Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Who Gives A Hoot?

Screech Owl

You weren’t fooled
One minute
Late Friday evening  
By uncanny calls to love

Issuing from Audubon’s mobile app
Wise, it turns out
To calibrations
Distinguishing chuffed

Mild Annoyance
From head turning
Cries of Alarm! 
Nor were you deceived

In the least by Stan Getz
Filtering soft and sweet
Through an open window.
You saw right through

My Italian sandals
To piebald Midwestern
Provincialism, eggs  
Doused in catsup  

Playing Lennie
In a local production
Of Mice and Men

A mere dream but
One that died hard. 
You may have been
Momentarily flummoxed

By certain discrepancies
In my curriculum vitae
Errors of omission
You may rest

Assured can be explained
By the light
Of a Hunters Moon.
But you weren’t taken in

By the band of tiny angels
Descending to bear me
Home on a thousand
Pairs of gossamer wings

Straining at the tented points
Of all those gathers, gazing
Up in silent reproach
At my receding wan grin. 

I was so sure you’d fall
For the one about
The Romanov heiress who
But for the want

Of your bank account information
Would gladly cut you
In for half her share
Of Faberge Eggs

Failing to take
Into account the speckled clutch
You guard with murderous

No rube
No turnip
From a turnip cart
No bigger than a pint jar

Enough to sit
On the front porch
Tucked into shadows
Running a finger around

The rim of this glass
Listening for your call
The one that snookered me
Thinking I’d heard the cry of a loon. 


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