BIRD STRIKE

A billionth of a chance.

But it happens.

That feather and bone

can down a plane,

during lift off or landing,

so close to home.

A travesty really.

Something emulated

destroys its imitation,

and by accident.

All it takes is one small body

to gum up the works:

for jet fan to turn on itself.

Blades breaking blades,

engine igniting, exploding.

A cascading effect—

that leads to carnage,

and to that thing of beauty–bird,

grace-in-flight—becoming

unrecognizable, and the music

of its names annihilated;

Greylag Goose, Gyps Vulture

Milvus Kite, Horned Lark,

Mourning Dove.

It is something else entirely.

What remains is the remains,

that the Smithsonian and its forensics

pick through and call snarge.

Seems a lot like shame.

All it takes is one small failure

to send the whole rig of self—bird,

plane, passengers—toward pulverization, catastrophe and a zoonosis of a different feather.