On her hand she wears
a white plastic bag
adorned in red Target store bull’s eye logos,
walking two blond dogs
she bends at the waist
in her black spandex slacks
stooping to pick up shit
as a hawk circles on the hunt overhead
in the bright dawn
light strikes her ass
rendering the fabric transparent
down to skin and the thin blue thong
a strip that serves only to accentuate
the stark divide between precious spheres
her prizes gathered, she stands
and all returns to obscurity
even the raptor has disappeared
behind the mountain
or fallen upon prey in the tall grass
leaving me to ponder
if my choice in bird watching was the right one


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