At twilight, midst the evening calls
of robins, blackbirds, flickers, other singers,
I hear the turkeys flying up to roost –
the loud clap of their wings, the landing,
which sounds almost like a crash,
the rather muted commentary

I don’t see them, but I know their sound,
for other years they’ve roosted
in trees near us,
and I could watch them settle in,.

After they’re quiet, after it’s dark,
the geese start up –
many a point to settle
before they call it a night.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 8, 2020