I watched the eagle descend into
November’s frigid Mississippi flow,
Grab the trout, or was it a bass?
With powerless ascent, the fish writhed
As taloned knives drove through its flesh,
Then died in flaccid flight.
Arching toward the near bank the eagle
Vanished into the skeletal trees
On the bluff beneath my feet,
To devour its feast.
In awe of an eagle’s power I dreamed
Of swooping in majestic flight to grab
My prey in the clutch of deadly talons,
Only to disappear in victorious ascent to
Ingest my succulent dinner.
I felt the hunger rise like wind
Elevating the mighty span of wings.
With lasered focus, I chose my unsuspecting victim.
As my hunger raged I drove out of the park,
Descended upon the drive-through
And ordered a fish sandwich.
Who am I kidding?
I could never be an eagle,
Perhaps a trout, or maybe,
A widemouthed bass.
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This Poems Story
I saw a warning in a book of prayers about the futility of imitating the lives of the powerful, and after reflection, I thought about how I've always wanted to be bigger and more powerful than I really am. This poem is the result of that reflection.