After an accident or attack, their hunting skills gone
They end up here; some struggle at first, but things
Of nature understand the inevitable, easily give over
To a quiet presence, perch where and how they can
There’s a sign for each, or a guide can fill in details
The species, age and gender of each; they say some
Will be returned to the wild, some others will stay
Here for the rest of their lives, isolated half-lives in
These large enclosures, with their food tamely left
Lifeless gory bits, never a fight, never a challenge
As if killing weren’t a necessary part of eating, as
If talons and sharp beaks were ornamental, things
Guides remember to point out to the tourists passing
Through; they ask when do you feed them and they
Talk about schedules and routines and proper amounts
In the wild they eat what’s available, whenever, but
Here mealtimes are systematic and tame, like all of it
It’s a cross between a nursing home and a zoo, or better
Between a veterans’ hospital and a zoo, these generals
These field marshals, warriors diminished some way
Held in check for now, waiting patiently for something
A beginning, a brief opening, or just an end to it all.
-- J. K. Durick
