The Dying Buzzard
John McKernan
Hopped Around the yard for days Skulking in the rose garden Sliding across the porch Hissing under the cedar hedge I almost killed him With a hockey stick One morning at dawn Eating blueberries I brained him that rainy midnight With a chunk of oak firewood Tossed slow & high Like a lucky pitch softball Smacking that yellow cataract eye I watched all the next day His brothers and sisters Chew him For breakfast And lunch And dinner