I’ll be the first one to admit
this is not a beautiful bird.
In fact, I think it’s rather ugly.
A bunch of wild turkeys
live in our neighborhood
and every few weeks
I have to wait for them to cross
a busy road near our house.
I watch them intently
as they saunter across,
and find myself staring
at their ghost-white skin,
those beady eyes,
that unflattering wattle.
At the same time,
I know it doesn’t serve me
to judge a book
or a bird
by its cover.
Will I ever be fully free
of judgment,
I wonder,
and be able to see past
the traits I don’t like
in someone or something?
Can I get to a place
where I love and respect
even the wild turkeys
who cross my path?
I think I can, I think I can,
but some days
are harder than others.
