Ever since that crow and I had a nice chat
He won’t leave me alone.
I say that it’s a he because I’m not really sure,
But by the way that he and that other crow
Were sidling up to Mademoiselle Crowette
On the telephone high wire, I’m almost certain that he’s a he.
He acted insulted when I asked, so I dropped the subject.
Wherever I go, he’s there chatting me up
In a nice way. Polite crow.
He must be young to trust me, so…
I was walking home from work near the old brick schoolhouse
With the bent and torn chain-link fence
That needs repairs so that the beer drinking teenagers
And the paper sack vagrants stay out,
Which is tough when the liquor store sets its clock back five minutes
To stay open a bit longer than it should
Til the AA meeting (Twelve steps away) is done.
In the morning, the crow looks for breakfast chips and cheese snacks
Intermingling with the broken glass in brown bags
And the crow sometimes complains to me
About the quality of food
Or the mess
Or about how confusing most humans are.
As if I could do something about it!
But mostly, he cries and mourns
Just like we all do
Although crow tears are rare, today he shed one on my arm.
I never encountered a depressed crow before,
And I was feeling kind of sad myself
So I tried a few comforting words
That might make sense to a crow.
Hopefully, he’ll have a healthier dinner tonight,
A good rest in the nest
Allowing him to see life differently in the morning.