[So I realized I hadn't updated this in nearly a month, and that I hadn't written a new poem in over month so I took time out of studying (actually watching the Colbert Report) to write this. Tell me what you think.]
There are eagles in the fields along I-5.
I pretend I don’t know why they’re there.
I make up reasons for them to be down on the ground:
he just got tired of flying
and who wouldn’t with the wind today,
he’s curious, probably saw something shiny.
But that’s not why they’re down there,
they’re scavenging,
probably eating dead rats or starlings
that could have been dead a week or more.
But I don’t want to think about eagles that way
they aren’t coyotes—their noble and majestic,
so I make up stories about them.
I’d rather have an inspiring picture
than a disillusioning reality.
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