Butcherbird

by Ion Corcos

A lizard
lies impaled
on a snapped twig,
its dead body
slight in the silver
of the bark, the crevice
of the branch
a larder.

Black sap stains
the pale bark.

Butcherbird shifts
low on a tree,
searches
the woodland floor,
ready to pounce.

It does not sing.

Grey legs push
into the air,
wings outstretched

to land soft
on the floor.

Stabs the ground.

Thunder strikes
the nearby hills.

A lizard hangs
splayed in beak.

Watchful,
the butcher sings,
echoes
between trees.