I Flap
 
My wings are skin, stretched on bone.
I flap.
The sun makes jewels of my scales, red, blue, gold.
I flap.
Far below, the tiny trees waltz in the wind.
I flap.
Against the sky of ruffled clouds, the black crows scatter.
I flap.
Tiny sounds of church bells tumble up into the sky.
I flap.
Small colored bits dance in random on a square.
I flap.
A children’s playground, I turn downwind.
I flap.
Folded wings, I whistle-drop to meet the ground.
I flare my wings.
I bullet swift to meet the children as they scatter, scream.
Talons extended.
I clutch a girl, it waves its yellow hair and squirms.
Up, up, up, I flap.
It stares at me in silent fear, blue eyes swim in tears.
I nip off its head.
Down falls the head, a yellow dandelion in the wind.
I bite down.
The warm flesh drips long strings of blood.
I eat.
The empty bag of rags falls away.
I flap.