A shriek, a shot,

and the raptor above me

splits off! I stand,

spy on the spins, the rounds

as he cruises through the pinnacles

of the Bunker Hill Towers.

 

Silence then, empty sky.

My breath jumps, my eyes.

 

I curve after, speed

around the Civic Center,

recover sight of my prey

braking atop a signpost

on the northbound 110 Freeway.

 

I speed to the overpass,

call a pit stop, a respite

to detail the fineness

of my downtown find,

snow-bright chassis,

food-hardy spoiler of a beak,

overhang of a rust-red tail.

 

I grab my camera, point,

click. He screeches off,

careens into a hairpin

offroad.

 

I jumpstart,

 

oversteer,

lose him in the highrises,

find myself back to start,

outmanoeuvred

by the bird’s

 

slick slideways handling.

 

Still, there is the photo.

I zoom in on the finished

shine of feathers,

the perfect black eye,

wave the pennant

high for both winners

in the hawk to human race.