Eyes worried, my former co-worker
stands outside

the county building.
He bemoans the budget, continued

layoffs, disappearances
of old friends.

Fluffy flakes begin to fall.
I lean to catch one

on my tongue, stop short—
they are down feathers.

We glance up,
spot a peregrine falcon

on a low tree branch.
The raptor clutches

a pigeon in its left talon, rips
flesh with hooked beak.

There are young to fledge
on a tower cornice.

Well, as they say, it’s a jungle out there.

Or, liberally extending M.L. King’s famous comment, “We may have all come on different ships, but we’re in the same boat now.”

This, despite underlying patterns that may save our bacons for awhile.  For example, urban peregrines strike more pigeons with black rumps than white.