The Bird

A Golden Shovel after Gwendolyn Brooks' "Beverly Hills, Chicago"

A bird! We stop to see it.

But we all see it for what it really is.

At first, we see it through our eyes only.

However, it must be stopped, it is not natural.

We do not want to stay any longer, I disagree with that.

For the bird is spying, just as we.

I set my weapon, as we all should.

Through the scope, I get a good look.

My finger stealthily slides across the trigger, and

Huzzah! The drone is dead. We stop to look.

I originally wrote this poem for an assignment in 11th grade. I'm not sure what was going through my head when I wrote it. What I do remember is that my English teacher enjoyed it so much she displayed it on the classroom wall.