Oldie

Screech Owl

You weren’t fooled

One minute

Late last night

By calls to love

Issued from my

Audubon app

Wise to calibrations

Distinguishing

Chuffed Mild Annoyance

From head turning

Cries of Alarm 

Nor were you deceived

In the least by Stan Getz

Filtered soft and sweet

Through the screen door

You saw right through

My Italian sandals

To piebald Midwestern

Provincialism

Eggs doused with catsup 

Playing Lennie

In a local

Production of

Of Mice and Men

A dream

That died hard

Perhaps you were

Momentarily flummoxed

By discrepancies 

In my vitae

Errors of omission

You may rest assured

Can be explained

By the light of

A Hunters Moon, though

You weren’t taken in

By the band of angels

Descended to bear

Me home on

Gossamer wings

Gazing skyward

In silent reproach

My receding

Grin betraying

Certainty you’d fallen  

For the one about

The Romanov heiress who

But for want of your

Banking particulars

Would cut you

In for a half share

Of Faberge eggs

Failing to notice

The speckled clutch

You guard with

Murderous tenacity 

No rube, no turnip

From a turnip

Cart, no bigger

Than a pint jar

I’m content to listen

From the shadows

Finger running

The rim of a glass

Snookered

Last night certain

Yours was the forlorn

Cry of a loon.