JUST AN
OLD
TURKEY
BUZZARD
Story by Marv Holcome. Photograph by Leah Cohen.
When they handed out good looks and brains, he was waiting in the wrong line,
Now that crooked neck and bald, wrinkled red head makes it hard for him to shine.
You won’t mistake him for a mighty raptor, for his prey is mostly road kill,
He is nature’s own garbage disposal – a nasty job that someone has to fill. But when you see him out on wing he becomes a completely different story,
With quiet agility and awesome grace he slowly reveals his hidden glory.
He takes his position inside the kettle and through the vortex he will rise,
Then it’s off to find some tasty morsel that’s already met its demise.
He hops around when he’s on his feet – appearing to not be all that stable,
There’s a pecking order at dinner time, so he has to hover near the table.
When it’s his turn for the taking, he picks ‘til nothing is left – not even a crumb,
For even he never knows exactly when or from where that next meal will come. Just watch him catch the currents; just watch him climb and fall
He can span the entire skyline with no appreciable effort at all
He glides so smoothly, so easily, without a lunge - without a lurch
Until he spots his evening repast and silently settles down on a nearby perch
You’ll see him sitting there like the Phoenix with his wings held out to dry,
He prefers to lurk on dead tree branches, gazing down with an eerie eye.
If he’s the last one back to the evening roost, he’s relegated to a lower spot,
Left to hope that what’s falling on his head is nothing more than a simple rain drop. He doesn’t make all that much noise and I’ve never heard him try to sing
But if you listen closely as he flies near, you can hear the whoosh, whoosh of his wing
He’s just an old turkey buzzard – he can’t be less and he’ll never be more
Yes, he’s just an old turkey buzzard, but, my god, you should see him soar.
14
Cenizo
Fourth Quarter 2019