dives in single-file formation
flaunting their atmospheric knowhow
to skim in fours or fives
above the bay at Caleta de Campos
refuge of the lesser narcotraficantes
& home to those willing
to pat tortillas & steam meat for them
in the red dust
& curt salt winds
They’ve
had their way already
these swarthy aviators
with men of war
phosphorescent plankton
& miniature crabs
beating feet
from detritus luncheonettes
They have reconnoitered
well
above & below the thermals
where hawks hover
loitering
just for the birdly fuck of it
Watch them
& tell me they are not
sublime purposeful efficient
so forth & so on
Tell me they
are not everything
a squadron of sea birds
patrolling the inestimable Pacific
should be
that they are not resolute
audacious
Watch as they buzz the
vultures
huddling serious terror
in the cottonwoods &
acacias
towering around the inlet
They get things
done
these hirsute flyboys
They lock in
They drill down
Watch
them glance at a swell
& plink
fill their maws
with sea mackerel
with dorado
with a bit of anything that
trembles
to the not-so-obvious
surface