I saw a turkey circling, high above Manhattan
his bronze and copper feathers ripped in the sun,
and it looked like it was having an awful lot of fun.
He looked proud, in those clouds—majestic and delicious,
I could picture him sprawled out, on our Thanksgiving dishes.
Then I thought, chastisingly, “Wow, in a way, that’s kind of vicious.”
I opened...
Continue reading...