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Wild turkeys warble
Somewhere out of sight.
A scrub jay squawks back,
Or maybe just cries.

What’s matter-of-fact
For various lives
Might seem quaint to you,
Exotic, now, right?

Well, there’s a contrail,
Followed by a roar.
The facts of turkeys,
Jays—now some titmice—

Don’t make an idyll.
Hawk screams, coyotes—
Still strictly business,
Nothing pastoral.

A breeze wavers through.
Jays and coyotes
Hush up and listen,
But not the ravens.

Whatever lives want,
Whyever they cry,
They’ll take what they get,
Or at least they’ll try.