A Brown Pelican

A Brown Pelican

I happened to observe a pelican

on a pylon consume another bird.

It was just a small thing. From my window

I witnessed all the horrors of nature.

‘How often am I the tiny bird trapped

in the gullet of a much larger beast?’

I pondered this thought, but it was hollow,

as the question, itself, seems incorrect.

The pelican and I acknowledge this,

holding eye contact, I sip my coffee.

His wings flap, he does not leave the pylon,

he stares at my window. ‘He sees my soul.’

I assume it’s a he, I could be wrong,

but now I am late for work, so I leave

the beast alone to finish up his meal.

I forget about him not long after.

When I return home that evening he’s gone.

I hardly notice the empty pylon.

I drink my final coffee, I watch the

evening news that isn’t quite news at all.

It isn’t until I’m in bed that night

that I ponder the large brown pelican,

resting on a beam, eating it’s brother.

And I have nightmares. Such tragic nightmares.

I am soaring above cloud and city,

far below me are crystal blue waters

out of which jump endless arrays of fish.

A bestial hunger growls from my gizzard.

I lower myself and I spot my prey.

My beak clamps down upon my own brother.

I swallow and feel him thrash in my throat.

I ask: Am I often the pelican?