Anachronous Creatures
—poetry by G. Tod Slone

Anachronous Creatures

Loud honking out front on Main Street.

Off my ass I get to take a look.

Two wild turkeys are standing in the road,

confused, and causing a traffic jam.

Ha! Beautiful, I think.

But where the hell have we come

as a nation, as a society?

The commuter mob is pissed off, honks,

cusses, wants to get home to chow,

and could give a goddamn about

the beauty of the rare creatures in its midst.

An ambulance arrives, blasts deafening siren

over and again. I cover my ears. Christ!

Then the turkeys slowly waddle off to the side,

somewhat befuddled and likely deafened.

They walk down the sidewalk, entirely

out of place—anachronous, kind of like me.

Days later, Petie, the 80-year old neighbor woman,

asks, “When you did your jog, Tod,

how far did you go down Harrington Avenue?”
I tell her all the way and then some.

“Did you see any turkeys?” she asks.

“No, but usually I do,” I say.

“Well, I heard they found two dead turkeys

on the side of the road,

one with its throat slit,” she says.