On sunny afternoons the eagles wait Dead still, watching and waiting.
It’s beak as colourful as a ripe banana.
The eyes focusing into the distance like a camera lens,
the pupil like an endless black hole.
Carefully camouflaging into the trees, almost as easily as taking a breath.
The evil eagle screeches whilst swooping,
It’s flaps its sore wing
Waiting for assistance as it grips onto a tree like a helpless koala.