ELLYN LICHVAR

 

 

                                     



JOHN JAMES AUDUBON EXPERIMENTS

 

 

The vultures didn't hear the sound

of the painting hitting the morning

 

field. A sliced open hog lay covered

close by, days old, heavy fist

 

waiting for wet mouths, but no bites.

Buzzards rang above, skinny eclipses 

 

over the green. Flight following

a black-eyed gape. Finally, seeing

 

the oil-painted death—sprawled

gut, mouth dry and a lolling tongue—

 

they came down. Such attention to detail,

this fake lamb in the grass—blood pool

 

brushstrokes and splayed skin.

The sound of five thin vultures

 

like hammers hooking again and again

the tight canvas with no return

 

and the man standing, scribbling it,

dragging them down from sky.

 

                                                                                                      

 

      

 

                                   

 

 


TYPO 21