No Thank You

It’s a good thing
I didn’t see the hawk
eating the mourning dove alive,
or I would have intervened
I
I
I
the pronoun that doesn’t really
matter to nature,
but here we are.

But what
If I had stopped it all
half-way.
I would have been
existentially
fucked.

The pigeon even more.

Think I lured and loved the dove
into fat happiness,
perhaps obliviousness,
by feeding it well
every day
in my backyard.

Someone says
you can use the feathers
left behind
for your collages,
and I say
No Thank You.

Leave the warning.

The hawk
might have been starving too.
He can’t make do
on what I put out.
No Thank You,
says the hawk,

I
got
this.