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The
fresh-killed rooster's shank was scaled and spurred.
He glowed with heat, a dark and compact sun.
I gloated as I plucked his glossy feathers,
recalling the old tyranny of the birdsin their pitiless reign as predators,
monsters on the prairies of the world,
scouring the plains on foot, filling the niche
left by the dying of the dinosaurs.
Remodeled raptors, reptiles
redesigned,
scourge of the veldt, part viper, vulture, hawk,
those Miocene marauders. We remember,
deep in the crannies of our mammal minds.
A rooster is innocent, nothing at all
to fear
till you tumble down the murderous well of its eyes
and drown in onyx pools of ancient rage
that urges birds, all these uneasy years,
to strike at man, as once at megatheres.
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