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Here's my contribution to the Turkey Talk 

HUBRIS*
                
With clucks and squawks,
long legs pedaling, 
necks stretched forward
they charge down the hill 
following their self-appointed leader
and come to a halt
 
just outside my kitchen window.
There, under the bird feeders,
naked, blue-gray heads in the grass,
six titanic tom turkeys,
search and peck, peck and search
for spilled sunflower seeds.

The September sun catches
the pink wattles and metallic
bronze feathers of the toms
as they cruise the backyard, 
repeatedly raising their heads
watching with bead-black eyes.

Except the one that has
redder wattles, fiercer eyes,
longer breast plume. 
He stands directly under the feeder,
so occupied with his own image
he doesn't bother to eat. 

With throaty gobbles,
he fans his enormous chestnut tail,
drags his white-barred wing,
arches his feathered neck
and struts among the other five,
like a pompous king
who doesn't seem to know
that it isn't spring!

*arrogance with excessive pride   
					              Ann B. Day
						November, 2005