see it all.
They slip into midnight,
their natural hue,
and witness the hunger,
the desperation
of those who live
and scurry by night,
but don’t do
or say anything about it.
Their slick black
trench coats
make each one
indistinguishable
from the other.
Last night,
they witnessed
a break-in
at the printers,
a break-up
after the bar closed,
and a breakout
from the county prison.
They betray no one,
they have no code.
In the dawn
they gather
in their murder,
but there is
no conspiracy,
each crow
searching the morning’s
detritus,
stray fast food wrappers,
uncovered garbage cans,
just looking for
something to eat.
Love this!
ReplyDelete"In the dawn
they gather
in their murder,
but there is
no conspiracy,"
Reminds me that if there are only two crows it's just attempted murder... Love the defamiliarisation you used to see the crows in new light.
ReplyDeleteAh, good for nothing crows. It's what I always say !
ReplyDeleteI like it, Buddah. You had me thinking the real night watchman until the middle when I sensed not all was up to snuff. Sort of like my cows. Metaphor playing is fun but it takes skill. You did it well.
ReplyDelete..
Wonderfuil poem.
ReplyDeleteLovely metaphor.
ReplyDeleteA memorable piece of writing.
ReplyDeleteAh. This is really a fraternity of no fraternity-- very chilling and palpably caught. Thanks, Buddah. K.
ReplyDeleteYeah... seeing all, doing nothing about it, scarfing up garbage in the morning. Perfect metaphor.
ReplyDeleteFood for thought, now I will be looking out for those night watchman when they leave the garden site. Enjoyed thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteI like the detachment of the crows, and more generally the setting apart of nature as an observer of messy human affairs.
ReplyDeleteI love this, Mosk. ~
ReplyDeletethis poem makes me think of a dark night in the middle of some cold, unfriendly city.
ReplyDeleteenjoyed the read!