22.1.14

A Buzzard Flew

It flew too low that morning
hunting, perhaps, a bunny or a field mouse
circles and circles, it drew in the sky
carefully choosing its prey from atop
Wings spread wide open to welcome windgusts
then spiralling downwards to seize its catch

And yet, it fell.
Dragged down by a sudden crash
colliding at full speed with a commuters bus,
but no passenger on board witnessed its death
Some barely noticed a vague thud or a thump
while a cold blooded driver mumbled 'oh crap!'
And drove past.

It hit right in the windscreen
slipping off beyond glass as if swallowed
once mighty raptor of meat, blood and feathers
now knocked unconscious, smashed on the tar
Along a causeway where no buzzard would land
forever removed from life by a coach on delay

Alas! Cry the clouds.

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