Turkey buzzard cutting circles in the morning sky, spirals getting smaller, smaller; moving a degree or two above the trees each cycle. Hungry he is.
I watch and wonder if I can wait his table. Hold up the seed-filled thievin’ chipmunk as an offering. Reach into the sky and fill his breakfast order on this grey day.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
I’m sending the Discovery Channel straight to your house.
Only you, Mark, could read into the poetics and the metaphor to find my evil nature. Heh-heh.