Overhead, three buzzards lazily flew
As I lay ’neath the sweet September sun
And I waved at them to be sure they knew,
If they saw me, that I was by no means done
With living; then laughed at my conceit
That they might even have seen me wave
Or have thought me vaguely good to eat
Instead of leaving me to the grave
(For a poet who hasn’t written lately
More than a few fair lines — unread —
Might not be worth the time of stately
Birds of prey, by hunger led)
But they stayed aloft, seemed not to see
The treasure below, while on the wing —
Perhaps they’d have deigned to feast on me
Had I been some wide-eyed cat, or king.
Dabrowski retired in January 2007 after 33 years on the railroad, 26 of which were in passenger service, under N.J. Transit since 1983. He says he hopes this may be read by old friends.
