Flight of the Six Wild Turkeys

They fling themselves from nowhere
toward our car, wobbling like javelined
umbrellas. Their necks are desperate,
their feet absurd. The way they brave
the highway makes me jealous.

Oh, how tame we are in the far
right lane, my hand nowhere near
your pants, the radio mumbling on
about the weather. I strain
against the seatbelt, turn
to see them in the tamarack
as they tumble, one by one,
back into birds
and we drive sixty-five
right past the moment.