The cornfield vibrated.
A hundred wild turkeys tugged at golden ears.
Kernels vanished henpecked.
Paul sliced cornbread doused with garlic oil.
It was a televised event on some whiskey channel.
Every commercial break played it once.
The wild turkeys transitioned into my backyard.
They look at their images in the sliding glass door.
Just like the roadrunner, they peck their mirrored image.
Paul attaches Christmas ornaments to turkey wattles.
He spreads wild bird seed mix in the yard
to maintain the seasonal decoration scheme.
In the hallway a roadrunner’s presence
informs me the sliding glass door was left open.
A white-winged dove snoozes in a bookcase pigeonhole.
Paul left the door open when he drove to the farmers market
to replenish the larder with cornbread mixings,
garlic olive oil, and a wider variety of wild birds.
copyright © 2018 Kenneth P. Gurney