I was sitting on a bench starting to write some kind of poem and then I saw this crow kind of staring at me like he was trying to write a poem. We maintained some form of eye contact for what seemed like quite a while. So I just stopped what I was writing and wrote about the long staring match I had with this crow:
I’m 5 foot 11, pale skin.
I sometimes wish I were a better person.
Not often enough that I’d make a change.
Just enough that I’d write it down.
There he stands, dark in the day
Sometimes predator and sometimes prey.
He has somewhat a prance and somewhat a waltz
Somewhat an acceptance of his own faults.
The coat that he wears floats easy in the air,
I bet you could tell him that and he wouldn’t care.
He tilts his head, almost as if he’s trying to gauge.
If it is he or its I that is in the cage.
He wears a flack jacket like a suit of flight armor.
His eyes dance around like a snake charmer.
He takes off from a flat-footed stance.
In with a twitch out with a glance.
And then off into the wind
Fair-weather animal friend.