William Hathaway, Poet
  • Home
  • Biography
  • Books
  • Links
  • New Poetry Drawer
  • Contact

Human Nature


That the great lofting bird, whose glide 
so high in circles on V-flung wings
we admire as majestic, only thinks
about sniffing up dead people to eat
is too gloomy to contemplate. Since things
are what they are, it’s best always to say
what they aren’t. The sharp-shinned hawk,
perching with such military smartness
in the yellow poplar, for example, watches 
the birdfeeder with unwavering diligence,
thinking only about killing people,
then eating them; a thought so much less
putrid that we know she strikes her noble pose
to rebuke highfliers their slouching waddle
over corpses that we slew and in hot onslaught
left crushed to the road behind us. Best 
to think nice thoughts, nestle down to dream 
dreams of glory—snatching up the standard
in a cozy din of horror at Gettysburg
or Gallipoli. After all, being what we must be,
let’s let a stately sweep of far foragers
bring not to mind some ghoulish creeping
over a field of slain, but let’s see instead 
The Cross of Constantine adjuring us
to once again rejoice in the violence
that always must bear it away and assures us 

of our chosen seats in paradise.
​
Return to Poetry Drawer
Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.