The Omen


As omens go, I would think a red-tailed hawk
Would be a good one, landing on the neighbour's upper window-sill.

The room inside is like a captain's quarters,
Nautical décor predominating.

Downstairs is a cubby-hole apartment, with a miniature kitchen
And a bit of garden out back. The young woman's name is Lucy;
She flies a peace flag in her window.

Meanwhile, the hawk seems quite content with his perch.
He's not disturbed by ravens calling loudly as they swoop.

The ravens startle me, then they're gone.
I look up and the hawk is still there, like a fixture.

He can afford to ignore the ravens—he is of another nature.

This omen means a hunter will come, will take up his position
And will not easily be persuaded to leave.

All of this comes to me in the language of birds,
Leaving little room for disagreement or discussion.

Suddenly the sky is not so blue, and everyone moves with caution
Under the watchful eyes of the omen.


©2016 Michael Fraley




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