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
Izzy’s ears twitch. The three
rustle frizzled wings,
wind their heads from side to side
searching for mice.
Izzy likes mice
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.