Wild Turkeys

When Ronnie’s husband stepped out of the shower
She spotted bite marks on his buttocks

I was so listless
I wished the dog could talk



The room was frowsty. Then men
Were discussing the legacy of Wendell Willkie

Those little cupids of nostalgia
Fading into doubt...

All that fussing
Followed by a creamy silence—

Oh mother, my daughter said, you’re so ’80s

To winkle out meaning, I’ve given up,
I’m simply nosing through the thistle.

Prudish light of a candle
As night closes with a tail over water



A rufous backdrop of brush.
A clot of gardening tools

When Mrs. Mast took a photo in September
Of a cougar lounging beneath her clothesline
Everyone stopping strolling our lazy road.
Even Jack felt uncomfortable
Smoking a cigarette on the patio
Before retiring

More Poems by Robert VanderMolen