Crow Matinee
A lone crow squawked and cawed so much
he caught my after lunch inattention
while he arrowed to the ground,
swiped an empty ice cream cone
carrying it high into a bare tree.
As though he held a microphone,
his ruckus grew until another crow appeared
The caucus balanced their empty cup on a limb,
examined it as though it were a cornucopia
passing it back and forth between them.
So much like politicians in their sleek, black suits.
Who knows what lies were told, promises made?
Finally, in agreement, they began feasting.
I smiled inside out at such craftiness:
their chiseled beaks’ precision,
how they swallowed smidgens
never dropping one bit until the cone was gone.
Frost’s words still echo inside my head,
The way a crow shook down on me…
photo taken by the Iggy.’s
