January’s Drones

The drone is viewing from a bird’s eye, the tops of human heads of varying shapes and colors

I wonder what it wants to see

The vultures see the same heads
and know that each of these fleshly thoughts are exactly the size of the organic matter of a meal

They know more than the drone knows.

The amber alert is going off in my hand while I stand in the parking lot looking toward the drone that is being circled by vultures

It is warm and sunny for a January day and all of the people walking to their cars from the grocery store are carrying charcoal

I am half smiling, half frowning and the drone hovers closer, sees my face

Like it sees the tops of all of those heads attached to arms and hands carrying charcoal and meat and amber alerts,

It sees me seeing

I drop something when the flight of drone and vulture become a warning that a lost child is somewhere on an interstate in a Ford Flex or not

Looking from the sky now, license plates are sitting cleverly with big smiles. They are innocent and their teeth have not been displayed as bad news.

My son says, ” There sure have been a lot of amber alerts this year and it’s only January.”

I look back up at the dumb drone, the hungry vultures circling the innocent

The blind bird eye and the unburdened wing no longer have any mystery to offer

I never pick up what I dropped in the parking lot
I don’t even know what it was, though I have a vague idea that I know it exactly.

We drive home and light our grill because I still have my son and it is never this warm and sunny in January.

 

J. Ann.

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