she soars like a hawk,
dangerously circling,
mere feet from the presence
of unaware prey
tensed at ten miles an hour
the silent stalker, ready to pounce.
she spots what she's hunting
eyes narrow to slits
in sudden intense concentration
mouth purses, the corners
tightening tense as a bow
that strains to contain
the arrow's path
of the suddenly aimed
front of her car
tiretreads clawing the unaware back
of an innocent parking space.
Jon Bohrn (1999)



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