Simple Fare

by Phil Huffy

Late morning, in a calm July.
High in his tree of terror,
Upper Togue’s bald eagle
assesses his luncheon prospects.

He was a young bird once,
sometimes wasting time and fight
on adult loons, raucous and combative,
diving to safety as he swooped.

Better, he knew, to raid a nest
or skim a baby duck or two,
not that he’d lost speed to age
or ability to wintry challenge.

Better, he’d learned,  to find weak prey,
to hunt the slow and helpless,
sick or dying, small or confused
and save his own energy.

And if luck or skill or patience waned,
as sometimes happened,
the agile raptor could spot the already dead,
and chasing off other diners, then partake.