Turkey buzzards patrol
my neighborhood twice daily, like cops.

Between rounds, dozens were regular
fans of the local Little League.

Pensive, they studied the games, never yelled,
behaved like bored old men with cheap seats.

Steps were taken. This steady watch
was way too much for parents.

Now these carrion crows haunt
the roofline of a strip mall:

five above the pet store,
six over the burger joint,

and a dozen sniffing
fumes from Suzie’s Nail Salon.

Noting unsteady toddlers, they appraise
how tender

the puppies might be,
consider the consequences

of red meat,
and the beauty of their next meal.