A Brush With Death

A Brush With Death

A Poem by Tom Friel

 

I felt the air of the hawk
Brush against my skin
As if death itself
Unexpectedly
Had flashed before my eyes
 
… But not His
Contentedly unaware
Was my four-legged friend
Sniffing doggedly in the grass
Oblivious to fact that
One of nature’s diurnal birds of prey
Had seen visions of a Thanksgiving dinner
In an old, somewhat overweight
Slowly moving
Slightly limping
Miniature schnauzer
 
So dangerously close
Was my companion’s end
I shudder to think
Surely I must have imagined it
No one would believe me anyways
Oh, they might be polite
And nod their heads in amazement
But I know what they are thinking
 

“Thomas has been in the cups again.”

© 2009 Tom Friel


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Added on January 6, 2009

Author

Tom Friel
Tom Friel

About
Not much to say, an average guy, more or less. more..

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