Turkey vultures perch in their trees - On two different branches, In two different trees Of the same kind. Two black dots in a pale blue sky. Each looking past the other one From their own vantage. Unfamiliar to the shape Of their own beak. They do not beckon. No motive. They will not become Anything out of the ordinary. They sit and wait for life to happen, Or rather, for it to not. Call it oppurtunity. They flutter their wings and soar Only towards death. When they find it, Tearing the flesh from the bone, Devouring the innards in ghastly gulps, Pecking til the bones are bare And their stomachs are full.