Part of the forest pulls away and lets the missile fly. The sporting weapon has three nocked at once and operates on gizmos and pulleys.
Yet, the wild turkey says Yes! to existence.
Flocks abound my squatter’s lower forty or more. Seven poults and a mother. One tom gobbler, bearded, blue-cheeked, copper.
They leave peace signs in the snow.
I’ve got to have one, not for dinner but conversation. I have a turkey calling.
I’ve seen twenty or more. Thirty or more together. Wild, tall-necked. I’ve mistaken them for storks. I’ve mistaken them for buzzards.
That’s because I’ve been a city-to-city boy, an Interstate resident, who says Yes! to exits. I say, prepare for me, Quick Mart, at your convenience, your best domestic turkey sandwich. I want to picnic with Ben Franklin’s suggested America symbol.
Wild, and turkey, too. They had to be re-introduced to Ohio. I want to know how that’s possible. I want to be re-introduced to Ohio too. Ohio. Halloo. Appalachia. Hello.
I say Yes to your bio-regional bird.
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Ivars Balkits’ poems and prose have been most recently published by The Palisades Review, ephemeras, Vernacular Journal, Meetinghouse Magazine, Mercurius Magazine, Pnyx (Ozymandias Project), Punt Volat, and Seneca Review.
