Birds of Prey

I went to a modern art museum yesterday and saw a long-legged, short skirted woman moving through the exhibitions as if she were hunting for something.  I imagined her, and other women like her, at a gallery opening, searching for the next hot artist.  (I'm not sure all this comes through in this short poem - or sketch for a poem.)

                                                                    Birds of Prey

                                         Women in high heels pick their way through
                                          the gallery opening like long-legged herons
                                          on the prowl in still and shallow water.
                                         They lift their feet in a slow, segmented prance,
                                         eyeing pieces as if they were fish to snatch -
                                         but only if they are well worth the wading.
                                         Otherwise, the martini olives will have to do.