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.
