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.