Exposure with Owls – Joni Wallace
Soft piping of an owl, two owlets, in the pine.
Low violet above, impromptu.
The congregation sang off key.
The priest was rambling.
The paint was peeling in the Sacristy.
I came in, dandy and present
arguing for a moratorium on meat
of the kind splayed out on the table, legs akimbo
like a fallen-over ice skater skidding on her backside