BIG PINE KEY

The vultures have been hovering over the island for weeks now

Swirling in great black theatrical wakes

A pre-migration event I am told

I am just now noticing the ugly

Close scrutiny over the streets and inlets

The search for dead flesh in the untrodden grounds

Divorced from Key West bound traffic

Maybe the vultures know something we don’t

That we are simply players in that Twilight Zone episode;

Humans imprisoned by personal need

To escape a turn-of-the-century Salvation Army toy chest

Alive until touched by strange hands

Becoming wooden & rotten

Death by ownership

 

Maybe the vultures know this

Which is why they stay