CHICKEN HAWK by THOMAS CASEY

Observe the high and circling wing
Of this, the bird that cannot sing.
His claws are not for clutching limbs,
Nor are they likely synonyms
For beauty, feathering, or peace.
They serve the simple, sharp release
Of anger from an exiled heart
That pulses both the wings apart
And lifts the hawk above the haze
Of passing clouds. He spends some days

In turning distant spirals down
The vault of sky above the town,
And laughing with his pearl-bright eyes;
But mostly does he love to rise
And swoop upon the chicken yard.
Each challenge of his disregard,
Each frisky pivot, plunge, and grasp,
Inflames the farmer, and he'll clasp
One day his shotgun to his shoulder
And stop the hawk from growing bolder.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!

Other Poems of Interest...