Vulture
i. m. Kevin Carter, 1961-1994
On assignment in the
Sudan,
a photographer catches sight
of a little girl and a
vulture,
she, starved, the bird, hungry
in an appraising sort of
way
sensing it's on to a good thing.
Likewise the man, who lines up
a
camera and seizes the image,
absolute image, which says
everything about
suffering
and those who feed on it
from a distance, you, me,
the
photographer, who makes
money from the picture
and is happy, till the
day
he traces himself in the stooped,
clawed, predatory gait of the
bird.
Then, it's too late. He can find
no compassion, not even for
himself.
There's only one thing to do
and he does it fast, gunning
the
motor of his car, turning
carbon to fumes in a pipe.
Inhaling
deeply.
(Previously published by Octavo, The Poetry Quartly of The
Alsop Review:
http://www.alsopreview.com.octavo)
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