Pressed hard to feathered undercarriage,
the lemming flapped wildly, hopelessly,
as sharp talons drove deep into his chest.
Poor devil, I sighed,
when just a moment before
I'd been soaring, swooping, with the eagle,
And then, its bloody prey
safely tucked away by distance,
my heart once more reached out
to the magnificent raptor
as it plunged high into
the waiting arms of sky.
I imagined the great sweep of meadow
growing smaller and smaller beneath,
the beat of wing, the thermal up-thrust,
horizons commanding from all sides,
the craggy towers of home.
Ah, I thought,
if these surviving lemmings only knew.
Australian born poet, John Grey, works as financial systems analyst. Recently published in Poem, Caveat Lector, Prism International and the horror anthology, “What Fears Become” with work upcoming in Potomac Review, Hurricane Review and Pinyon.