Turkey Vulture Poem

Wings wheel, sans flutter, 
Ice dancer gliding on one leg, 
Bicycler coasting downhill. 

Grackles and crows flap-flap-flap, 
Regal hawks do not so sail, 
You who await morning thermals, 
You who digest first, lest heft impede ascent. 

Mauve face nestled in glossy black, 
Thrifty of movement, 
Eyes bearing down,  
Noting struggle, submission. 
No fading rat, rabbit or hog eludes purview.  

Huge black raisins, you rest on posts, but watch, 
Biding time before descent— 
That festival of dead or dying morsels: deer, mouse, dog, 
Leftovers from sated car or truck. 

We who shop, who fish and shoot, 
Have scorned you—unmanly bird, 
Nature’s garbage collector— 
But worship your kin—eagle, hawk and kite 
Who savage with beak and claw. 
Athletic teams spurn your image; 
Your likeness adorns no jersey. 

But you, like we, feed on carrion. 
Doing what one must, 
To nourish, to live. 
Plus, you scrub the world clean.