They Shoot Birds

They shoot birds they do shoot dead birds they shoot dead birds into
the engines of airplanes they shoot dead birds into the engines running

at takeoff thrust they do dead birds all kinds all sizes bought wholesale to
test the engines' determination the way a road will test a man after he's

walked enough after he's passed his house once twice on his way to where
he traffics in dead birds a lucrative trade in an age of convenience he has

seen the price sway in a gust of uncertainty he has named his price &
named it again & it will answer to any name from this birdman gone to

earth you can close your eyes & guess which bird has been shot into an
engine by the length & intensity of the sound it makes when it hits its

mark they are rare even if they are common & you have to know how to
shoot them you have to have a good arm as it were the kind that throws

a no-hitter on cue an agile weapon with an instinct for accuracy anything
but an afterthought they shoot them don't they awfully stiff birds perfect

birds worthy of this moment not every bird will make the grade the short
list the final cut pardon the pun nothing in their swift mission can be left

to chance you can tell they were all good fliers once their dead muscles
laced with the ache of motion Charles Lindbergh himself said that if he

had to choose between planes & birds initially he must've said it to him-
self he said that if it came down to this he'd take the birds hands down

Copyright © 2004 Dionisio D. Martinez All rights reserved
from The Kenyon Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission