Lot of the Crow

 

Watching you try to improve

your position and take up the crown

with your mouth of needle-

nose pliers plunges one into feelings

of indifference.

 

Do you think with certainty that your pecking

order will be rearranged

now that you own what remains

of a bag that belonged to the king

of burgers?

 

Perhaps that is why your ancestors

flapped furiously over so many

plots of hand and barrel-rolled

dice in the dust — so that you could win

this suburban lottery.

 

Crows are the same everywhere,

one must conclude. Grain robbers draped

in the lucid wisdom of the afternoon sun

to scavenge efficiently even for photons

as they drench the pavement.