An Osprey Man

An osprey flies over the dog park.

Then another, with a stick in its jaws.

Somewhere, a nest is under construction.

Ospreys remind me of my late friend Gary,

truly an osprey man if there ever was one.

He had osprey stories,

stories of Rogue River eels and fish

dropped from the sky,

and Gary frying them up for supper!

Christ what an image for a poem!

Or that time Gary was ordered

by some hippie woman to return an eel

that an osprey dropped in his boat

parked in the driveway,

return the damn thing to the river.

He did it!

He filled a cooler full of water,

threw the eels inside,

(along with some cans of beer)

drove to the jetty,

and dumped the eel into the river

on an outgoing tide.

Gary was pissed!

He wanted to try out

a new recipe for eels

dropped from the sky by ospreys.

Some fresh rosemary,

a whiskey butter glaze.

Some cedar chips

on the barbecue,

don’t smoke it too long.

Eat the eel with your hands!