On the cold dark road

Jet black pinion juts just off vertical
flutters on the pavement from a clump of
coal — or feathers, jumbled black feathers,
I see now: a crow lying on the road.

No accident this, but cold intent. A rock
— lowbrow tool’s tool, I heard it hit and
flip, followed by the scrambling splat
of the questioning crow, crying on the road.

Talon twitches at the end of a thin inkish
squiggle — and that fierce dark disk tilts,
looks for the explanation, please — a reason;
but there is no why, just dying, on the cold dark road.

 

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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