The Holdout

While some of its skyscraper neighbors
were all grown up     many were still on the rise

and with shiny cold condos closing in on all sides
that drab  peeling-paint-plastered  cozy old shack

       like its time-ravaged owner had dared to abide
              sagging and creaking  but refusing to crack.


Detecting  a strengthening of its frailty and fears
as shadows from the towers surrounding it lengthened

the property hawks who'd been circling for years
       suddenly sensing  its impending demise
              tightened their turns in the thermal-filled skies

              all the while  the shabby home's owner
              had in seeming sympathy  grown visibly weak


and it wouldn't be long
before the small  wooden  would-be house
that concrete-and-steel-nose-thumbing mouse

would feel the sharp claws and home-shredding beaks
       as it'd soon be reduced to what fate had in store:

              that last obstinate bit   that wee missing piece
                     that long-awaited   long waited out course

                            — a slight but sweet dessert-time treat
                                   at the real estate raptors' fly-in feast.
From his lofty perch near the top of the earth, Korvus observes the whirling world of humans, with equal parts disgust and amusement. Korvus is the author of the unpublished book "RED PILL POEMS The Poetry of Empire, Politics and Power" and may be reached at ravenzroost@protonmail.com Read other articles by Korvus.