CrowsCrows
Fat black crows live in the tree.
They see me.
I hear their laughter.
Preening mawkishly, they spin as one
To face me.
Black-frocked, they perch on the wind,
Circling and swooping in ever widening arcs,
Lopping off great chunks of pallid sky.
They show no mercy.
I am an interloper
Caught between tree and garage.
I live in the cracks.
©Katherine M. Searle
searlek@mail.davenport.k12.ia.us
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