Peregrine Peregrine

The peregrine don't bother with the beak and feet and toss them to the sidewalk off the top of the Methodist's tower   like KFC out the window of a speeding car of drunks, sparrow and pigeon parts on the sidewalk, a roadside litter,   the road here in this case is the sky. It rains blood more literally than it always does and the birds of prey have non-metallic feathers.   Everyone in Chicago has read in the Times, coyotes prefer Mc D's. Our kind of wild life steps right up, robs the joint in the disguise   of himself he knows no one would believe. True, animals don't use human technologies, but the changes in us, because of such advances,   advance the animal relation to us. They've necessarily learned vicariously what they need to know of how two-legged technologies run;   they keep up with us the same way the dumbest button pusher keeps up with the MIT computer engineer. Not rocket science, but enough   to know what it does is there to work around or with whatever it is. Adaptation is an education in more fields than we imagine.

Sep 2, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Ed Roberson