PRESERVING THE SPECIES

PRESERVING THE SPECIES

Every year

Grandma makes turkey

for Thanksgiving,

its yellow skin

pimpled, greasy featherless.

In my head

I put the feathers back on

the bird

a floral arrangement

of color, texture

grace, style--

the bird Ben Franklin chose as national

symbol.

On a turkey farm

I see the birds

bred for our tables

bland, molting

pecking hard mud

behind a chicken wire fence.

Our breeding teaches us

we must preserve

what about us

is endangered--

you can get twenty years

for shooting an eagle

but the Butterballs

line the freezer section

of the super market

bald old patriots eyes

frozen shut

arms folded

compliant and waiting for us.

We pick them over

work our mouths into watering

going aisle to aisle

cranberry, sweet potato

pumpkin pie and dressing

and the American eagle

is frozen triumphant

nickel-plated

on each quarter I thumb

into the check-out clerk's palm liberating

my turkey.