Lovelorn Poet in Chicago, IL: Subtle Down And More Looking Away

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Subtle Down And More Looking Away
Missed Connections from Chicago

A beautifully orchestrated waltz.
Chess for the checker player.
Richard Marx when you want Bullet.
Crackers no cheese.
You touched my scarf.
The hand turkey was funny (IMO).
You noticed the hair.
I heard you defending my weird/quirkiness.
Thank You.

Lovelorn Poets Her Two Cents IconHer Two Cents
When I lived on four acres in a quasi-rural area there was no shortage of wildlife wandering in the backyard. In addition to the visiting deer, which I’ve written about before, there was also an abundance of wild turkey (fowl not bottle). The first time I spotted one of these birds I didn’t know what it was. My mental image of a turkey was the classic Thanksgiving icon: plump and circular, with tail feathers spread out behind.  It took a bit of time to readjust that expectation to something tall and lean. When I moved to my new neighborhood, I wasn’t expecting any critters beyond the garden-variety squirrels and birds, but one morning while fixing a cup of tea and preparing food for the world’s largest cat, I heard a very strange noise from outside the back patio door.  The guttural knocking sound continued while I went about my morning routine and when I had a moment to look outside I spotted a wild turkey in the backyard. My first thought was, “What the heck is a turkey doing in the middle of the city?” and my second thought was a morbid twist on the chicken-crossing-the-road joke but with a bloody turkey carcass and feathers drifting through the air.  The turkey was clearly lost and separated from its comrades (I’m assuming the sounds were an attempt to locate other party members…) and I felt a bit sad as it wandered along the chain-link fence looking for an exit. Ultimately, the creature found their way out and I haven’t seen it again since. Unlike the neighborhood’s orange tom-cat, the turkey’s fate didn’t immediately involve vehicular birdicide (at least not in sight of my house).  I think we would both agree that a good day is any day you can cross the road and stay alive.