Flight

In a dream I keep having lately,

I am sitting on a park bench,

eating my lunch,

when you swoop down on me in a hurried rush of feathers and bone.

I look over at you,

And you nod toward me with your huge, horny beak.

Slowly, I place my sandwich back in its sack and I slide my hand across the cracked grey surface of the park bench, until I am only inches away from your face,

and I can almost feel the airy softness of your tufted plumes.

That's when you catch a glint of light from some corner of your beaded eye,

And it frightens you,

And you fl-

                                fl-fl

           fl-fl-fl-fl-fl

flutter

                                                                         away.