There’s a crow on the overpass
with a bent, dead wing,
he’s cawing down traffic,
protesting.
Broken crow body.
Broken crow song.
Not another breathing creature
wants to sing along.
Didn’t come for the eggs,
not here for the meat,
but the infinite serpent
must eternally eat.
Trapped by the sun
up on that stone.
What style of hunter
leaves his kill alone?
I got four on the floor,
bump in the back.
Forty acres and a mule
on my goddamn dash.
Rock ’em
Squawk ’em.
Live free or die.
Gonna jam the pedal
right up to the next stoplight.
Soviets the only ones
who wait in lines.
Deep under the ground
there’s a world I see –
black, churning,
burning for me.
Blood of the lamb.
Blood of the lion.
Particulate matter.
Nitrogen oxide.
There’s a crow on the overpass
with a bent, dead wing,
cawing down traffic,
protesting.
Broken crow body.
Broken crow song.
Not another living creature
wants to sing along.
Not another breathing creature
wants to learn that song.
© 2009.