Those men with dollars on the mind
are pushed around by Monday
and tricked by Crow,
tricked by the broken look of Crow’s thin legs.
That hungry Crow.
But its wings, oh!
Oh! and its laughter
and theft of radishes
from those big men’s fingers
like a hand game
where dark women
deceive white men, singing,
You’re crazy,
bad luck,
those words sounding like love songs
until the men pay up
with big grins on their faces.
Those women, oh!
in blue shoes
arm in arm
with their laughter.
They have even bilked the moon;
that’s why I love them so
and why tonight is rich and dark.