Superjet

Pat loved lying naked

Wild Indian summer straw field sun

It felt like roasting must feel

Corn in toasted husk over coal

On the hottest day fire devoured the hillside behind his house

Flying the short mile up, over, and on to other hillsides

Pat found an orphaned hawkling hopping through the smoldering char

Hand fed and raised it through a gentle winter

And when he taught Superjet to fly off his arm

He used hot dogs to lure the talons back to his wrist

Superjet learned to dive and grapple hot dogs from Pat’s hands

Out of his mouth and away from startled strangers visiting

Then drop to a faraway rock and shred away the casing with hooked onyx

By late summer, the Calistoga foothills were once again ripe for fire

Superjet broadened and explored his territory

Striking suddenly any backyard barbeque for miles around

Snatching hot dogs right off the grill

Shrieking through birthday parties and picnics

Pat loved laying naked watching his liberated hawk above

Rising on the only clouds to survive the heat; generated by boiling Geyserville

Sulfurous spouts from deep within distant mountains

And when the hawk spied Pat’s penis  from a quarter mile aloft

And dove talon-first onto his body

Pat learned how hot dogs must feel

Torn from the warm hands of little children