The Hawk is Hunting / Bob Ambrose

A shadow glides the gentle land
beyond the blacktop, bordered
by ditches and daisies 
down packed dirt driveways
past tin-roof farmhouses
and one room churches
to fenced-in cows and free-range mice –
now soaring over grace and lies
the hawk is hunting summer skies.

A raptor circles arid plains
its pilot half a world away
a mug of Starbucks in one hand
while focused on his wary prey
a fighter striding toward his fate
as protocols somewhere are met
a mouse is clicked, new smoke plumes rise
in distant fields a young man dies –
the hawk is hunting summer skies.

Ghostly circuits take to clouds
to conjure up a techno-shroud
that reinforces human pride
as algorithms churn inside
spinning truths submerged in lies
and soaring dreams descend to doubts
just who the raptor, who the mouse
when cell phones stalk unwary lives –
the hawk is hunting summer skies.

At twilight hawks return to nest
but techno-servants never rest
they serve their masters faithfully
from Faust to Frankenstein they grow
ignore for now the final toll
relax, embrace your YouTube soul
let comfort salve the silent fright
as spirit reapers take to flight
and hunt the haunted summer night.

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