150-word Roll Call for December 2023 Enid Writers Club

To hoot, or not to hoot, that is the question:
For to hoot is to speak in hopes of being heard,
To not is silence amongst the trees,
Meditating upon the moon and the leaves.
If perchance I see a friend, a hoot would surely invite them in,
Whereas a foe might seek me out
Only to harass, harangue, and steal my house.
So, I perch wide-eyed in my hollow oak,
Prudence shepherding my unspoken note,
Equivocating on whether to hoot or not.
A snap, a twig, a scurrying in the night,
My dinner moves cautiously out of sight.
Unaware of my presence and eyes so bright,
Nor of my taste for furry gray mice.
I swoop, I dive, I see my mark.
I reach, I grab, I clasp thin air.
I sit, I frown, no wages for work,
I’ll go hungry this night, my soul in despair.
“Well… Hoot.”




