On a light pole a redtail
watches for fresh meat,
not in the nearby field

but on the city pavement,
dismisses rank roadkill--
a racoon on the center line--
leaves that to crows and magpies,
black-tie dinner guests squabbling
over the buffet before them.

I bid the hawk good morning
and brake to let the carrion crew
escape my deadly approach.
And I too feast on the scene,
bloody bait bringing us together,
a gift of black tar and white line
leading me on, not to a diorama
of birds forever posed but
another close glimpse at life
as I fly by, and the hawk just blinks.