Rushing out the door for an appointment,
I hurry down the walk, only to find
Not one or two but twelve wild turkeys
Entering from the road into my yard.
The dog is on the porch but does not bark,
Only watches as they slowly walk—
Dark unruffled feathers,
Almost like bark upon the hickory trees.
They slowly wander in unruffled way,
Eating seeds, insects as they go….
Talking, gabbling with every step
Dipping heads toward the Earth,
As though a minion of Jews
Bobbing their heads while praying.
Working their way through the grass,
They stop at crest of the hill,
Gaze toward the lake as one of them
Fully opens his wings and preens,
Flexing in the morning light.
And then they soar to lower yard,
Down by the lake, past the long shadows
Extending from the oak trees,
Slowly walking onto my neighbor’s place
Without ever thinking to ask permission,
Almost as though they know
Whichever way they turn is home.