Prowess

At the red light
a crow,
oil-slick black,
swooped in front
of my car,

laser-focused
on a dingy white
fast food
wrapper

that had blown
into the busy
charcoal
intersection,

snatched it
and flew
to places
unseen
with the
speed and grace
of a jungle
cheetah,

in the
sliver of time

before
the light
turned green

and his
athletic prowess
was forgotten

in the rush
of drive time traffic.

(not a crow, but you get the idea)

The Night Watchmen

The night watchmen
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.

The Crow with Heart

Waiting to turn left
I spied a crow
in the opposite lane,
valiantly attempting
to pick up
a brown paper bag
from the Del Taco,
most likely discarded
from a moving car.

The bag was as big
as the slick black bird,
and he kept
grasping and dropping,
grasping and dropping,
the rumpled bag
from his greedy beak.

He kept trying
frantically,
until an oncoming car
turned into his lane
and he fluttered off
with only a scrap
of a used napkin
in his possession.

In my car
I cheered this crow,
because even though
he didn’t win,

he played with heart,
passion,
and determination,

which is the only way
to play this game
of survival.