A mosquito-bitten afternoon, thunder
again to the south.
An overcast overgrown
afternoon, a snakebit afternoon.
sucking the venom
out of another workday.
Sitting here, counting my blessings and curses.
Found objects –
live oak, one raindrop flattened
on the grill cover,
a dead leaf, other dead leaves,
tumbler of bourbon, hawk on the wire.
Red-shouldered, I think.
Staring me down, daring me
on his airspace, to clash
beaks and talons. May the best
predator win. I sit back,
smiling at his screech,
scratch an elbow itch and think –
what’s the ratio of humans to raptors?
Another screech and I think –
what’s the ratio
of spirit guides to venture capitalists?
The hawk takes off, all noiseless
Sitting here, sucking bourbon
out of the tumbler,
spirit-guiding the thunder, the rain.
Staring myself down, daring
myself to trespass,
and to forgive those who trespass against me.