Crow

a crow

gray

uncharismatic

coarse, hoarse,

no la di dah

about his unblinking spectatorship,

hands in stained tuxedo pockets

is watching

my attempt

to write

a poem

 

looks

like

a

long

black

worm

to

me

 

he remarks

in F sharp crow quizzical,

spreads sudden magnificent

wings, sails down,

beaks a fallen pecan

and flaps off

to a nearby telegraph wire

 

he does what he knows best

just opens his jaw

and lets that pecan drop

on some obliging slab of concrete

to burst apart

in beak watering fragments

 

now it’s my turn-

there!

To Go Back To
SEARCH RESULTS
Hit your browser's
BACK BUTTON

© Johnmichael Simon

2007

.