There are foxes in my neighborhood now, which
pleases me, as our 'hood has been nicknamed "Ratsylvania."
 
Bald eagles nest within hunting range today and, yet,
the clueless still allow their cats to roam freely.
 
Coyotes will devour any food left on the back porch for feral cats
unless the skunks, possums, and raccoons get there first.
 
Egrets will gorge on any koi that foolish pond owners stock.
 
And I live in a midwestern city of a million people.
 
That's the way it is with nature; one is either longing for its return
or choking on it. There is no such thing as a delicate balance--
only fecundity, a fierce dominance, then death.
Ask any dinosaur.
 
I have no wish to harm anyone myself (I am timid that way),
yet I drive a car that belches poison and I relish meat
(so long as I am not familiar with the donor).
I spray bug killer like a trapped soldier with a flame thrower.
Meanwhile, mosquitos feast on me and face mites harvest dead skin
cells and even that crow perched on the porch rail is patiently hoping
I'll pass away in my hammock.
 
Still, the ground watches me hungrily,
which is sad because I had planned to end up in a furnace.
Perhaps I owe it to my fellow predators
to return these nutrients to the soil instead,
to accept my part in the food chain:
just above cows, just below worms.


© by Tom Barlow.
Used with the author's permission.