I’m sitting with half a cigar
squashed from last year
on an April porch in Austin
waiting for the tea to stew.
The cat comes running
and we two think to go inside
no longer alone together
both sick of the smoke.
But then a vulture comes by
what stomachs they must have.
A raccoon (for we saw it) died in the field
beside The Blue House; probably poisoned.
When I say field I mean it in the way
that men will say of Austin pretty soon
Well, all of this, all of this was fields
when you’re looking at condominiums.
Field in the sense that the man next door
hasn’t sold the extra lot behind the rental
he owns there, but he’s getting older
and his kids are keeping out an eye.
What with the prices of everything
and the way the market’s going
and it’s only natural after all.
Different vultures, same field.
(Gratuitous poor picture of the bird and what's left of the raccon here. And the field, while it still is.)