See the three apple buzzards

across the road, I call to Izzy

but she is mad at me

so looks away.

It’s not every day you find those birds

I explain.

Izzy’s ears twitch. The three

rustle frizzled wings,

wind their heads from side to side

searching for mice.

Izzy likes mice

herself so

scats to my window. A Chopin etude is playing.

The buzzards preen their feathers

Izzy licks her right paw,

velvet and scratch. Her tongue

buzzes apple red.

About Karen To and Fro

Everything you didn't want to know about me!
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