Saturday, July 4, 2020

Laughter of Crows

At first I thought they were laughing at me,

their "ha ha"s beginning when I dressed

for my morning walks,

laughing while they pooped

from the cypress limbs that reach out

over the hood of my Ford Ranger pickup

parked by my door on the busy street.

I’d shoo them to a neighboring pecan tree,

clapping loudly in hopes they’d think it gunfire.

They played along

pretending to be frightened, yet

loyal to their primary privy

laughing all the while.

In time they disabused me

of my egocentric conceit

allowing me entree to a deeper insight:

they were laughing at the irony

of their ancestry, reminding them with

ghostly internal combustion roars

it’s not the size of the dog in the fight...


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