Eisenhower’s Turkeys

I’ve seen the photos of the old General

Holding a Tom by it’s feet with that toothy smile

Feathers agleam among the south Georgia pines

of the landed magnates he called friend

The joy on his face and the commonality of the photos

on the big house walls of the old money hunting grounds

are testament to the sort of peace wild things brought this man

who planned the allied invasions of Italy, North Africa, and Normandy

And little wonder

The glowing green leaves of spring, the play of shadows

The light of God shining through the deep quiet

could calm the torment of any man

The hush broken only by the encompassing echo of a gobble

Filling the air so that it is a part of the peace itself

Growing closer, closer. Senses heightened.

Eyes searching out any movement among the timber

But I can’t help but wonder who called Eisnehower’s turkeys?

Did he walk the halls of Norfolk house, the Pentagon, the White House,

box call in hand, putting, yelping, purring in practice?

Did he sit behind the Resolute Desk scratching slate, lips pressed to a wing bone?

Or did the hand and mouth of some old provincial backwoodsman

bring the birds to the General’s feet?

4/8/2024