Hawk’s
antic screams
rush me
to the glazed
front door.
Sitting there,
surveying
her high desert
domain,
bobcat,
all serenity.
She turns,
looks at me,
look one
of familiarity,
as to ask if I
can soothe
hawk’s
anxious racket.
She stretches out
in the shadiest corner,
docked tail twitching
to the jittery tempest,
her version
of a bobcat
thumbing its nose.
Tired of the strident
serenade,
she casts me
a goodbye,
yawns,
and begins
to swagger
home.
Hawk strafes,
then dive bombs,
his scolds,
in revenge,
unrelenting.
She knows the drill.
Her strut
cool and taunting,
insult to fear.
Knowing full well
hawk’s all scream,
when it comes
to big cats,
but no bite.
