Turkeys in the Mood

Spring. I can feel it in the tailfeathers
of an unseen Tom. His gobble ricochets
off hot stucco walls onto my patio.

The gobble, I’ve learned, is used
primarily in spring unlike the cluck and purr
or fly-down cackle associated with leaving the roost.

Tom’s gobble says—hens—I’m in the mood
but must be used with caution by the hunter,
may draw a dominant Tom looking for a fight.

He can separate you from your girlfriend despite
your own display of chiseled pecs and waxed fenders.
Better prep the getaway car for Saturday night.

As for children—danger—danger—don’t
fool around gobbling in this neighborhood. Even
in the suburbs kids grow up too soon.

Eighth Birthday

Typed the cartoon dog,
it was a dark and stormy night,
cliché maybe—but—August
purple-bloomed thunderheads
and lightning even struck
the front-yard oak-tree once.

The cartoonist was Midwest born.
I was Midwest born and learned
I shared a birthday with the cartoon dog.
Comic strip panels straight as sidewalks
leading to the 5-and-10 and goldfish bowl
candy displays, I pored over both.

Thought bubble in ink: these secret missions are spooky.
Thought bubble in ink: I can hear someone breathing.
At our family table the breath of blown-out candles.
In my back yard hideout breath of wanting. Breath of secrets.
Outside I shared a birthday with a million mosquitoes.

The following year the Cuyahoga River burst
into flames inextinguishable as fake candles.
Both had to burn out on their own.

We don’t grow a year older overnight—but—
Mother, was I born on a dark and stormy night?
Otherwise, why do I burn to fix the rivers?

Neighborly Crow

I hear my neighbor the crow
croak—hey Dave—
what’s the haps—

but my side-whisperer
interjects—he can’t have called you Dave—
crows don’t—name—
they just don’t.

Neighborly crow, hold
that bough, hold that thought,
while black-robed with pique
I debate my back-talking self,
sidewinder hunting happiness.

I de-fang myself with fact—
crows—have a lexicon of their own—
sure—no dictionary
or multi-leaved thesaurus—
but you may identify me
by the following characteristics—
please call me henceforth—

characteristic of claimer of fallen leaves.
Characteristic of bringer of water in snakes.
Characteristic of amber liquids seeming to nourish.
Characteristic of amber liquids followed by song.
Characteristic of, simply, Dave.