In Horror, The New World

The bird stood still on his peggish legs

on the branch of a pine on Center Street.

Two college girls, laughing blue eyes and hair

bright blonde flowing in the air wakes as cars pass,

carrying white sun ripples in the expensive jell

they used to tailor every curve,

strolled the white whitened sidewalk, 

talking about Brad Pitt's penis

and licking an ice cream cone, from the Creamery on Ninth.

Their nails were painted sparkly crimson,

their shirts were identical pink, and their short shorts

black and tight. Their legs gleamed clean shaven,

exposed for the temporary delight of driving men

before they rear-end the cars in front of them.

The girl nearest the road gave a sudden cry,

a peal of raw Soprano cadence, and pointed

to the tree: "Look! It's an owl! I've never seen one

this far in town!"

The owl's brown peppered feathers were drawn 

in a cloak about its body,

and its eyes peered wide, unblinking

down the road, the cars coming, going.

"It's big," remarked the other. "Let's get 

a closer look."

The two drew slowly nearer to the tree,

and the owl didn't move. It didn't seem

to notice the women at all.

Eventually they stood directly before it,

and could look directly into its sharp eyes

and sloping oaken beak.

And still the owl did not move.

"He's beautiful." "How are you sure

it's a 'he?'" "Something in the way

he stands, I guess." "Yeah."

Their approach hadn't startled him       (nothing could startle him anymore, for the beetles were of steel)

and neither their whispers, his gaze 

was ever trained on the street

and its population of metallic beetles.

As they watched, a single feather fell 

from his right wing, and another from

the left, floating gently to the hard ground

at their feet. The Soprano carefully inserted

one feather in her hair, while giving the other

to her identical friend.

"Thank you, Mister Owl," she said,

and after they'd taken a dozen pictures 

of the frozen owl from all angles,

they departed, and still,

the owl didn't move, and the feathers

fell like ashes from the burning Tabernacle.

He had been dead for quite some time.