Scavenger

A rail, buff-banded rail,

weaves among the legs

of picnickers who loll at ease

on the buttress roots of fig trees.

It queries fallen fruit

with manners so refined

as to be indeterminate,

its herringbone immaculate.

Aloof though underfoot,

the rail extracts a crust

of pie from picnic residue — 

no seediness, no trace

of table-scrap solicitude

for any human hand or face.