Crows Perched On Crosses
Author: Bill Roberts
Peering as we walk solemnly toward
the rectangular gap in the ground,
a jury of crows,
judging perhaps which of us
will take the next available opening.
Could be any of us,
all older than the chap this day
being permanently sealed underground.
Crows know a ripe crop
when they see one.
The old man wearing a cross and
speaking in tongues
also qualifies as a candidate,
but the crows favor eying me.
Perhaps it’s my shuffling gait.
Could be the squawking hearing aids.
They know all the signs,
as I try to ignore them,
singing “Onward Christian Soldiers.”
They nod, join me in the second chorus.
(Published online in the November 2009 issue of Chantarelle’s Notebook)
Note: Today as I enter this poem it’s a beautiful Thanksgiving Day. So, what do I give you but a deeply dark poem. At least there are birds in it, just not the edible kind. This is one of my nightmare inspired poems, of which there are many. So many nightmares, so many poems. Maybe inspired too by all the crows hunkering about the neighborhood. I love Chantarelle’s Notebook, which is courageous enough to occasionally publish my material, not all of it dark. Let’s be thankful for what we have, what we’ve been given. And as Julia would say, Bon appetit! But please – don’t eat crow.
