Two Crow Poems

I. THE WASHINGTON STREET GANG

 

Crows continually going and coming
call to other crows, caw, cark, talk,
and flit like heavy fragments of cast iron, black,
thrown from this tree to that,
and in that tree or this sit throned
like black, heavy fragments of cast iron, talk,
cark, call, caw to other crows that flit
and sit in a continual coming and going of crows.

 

II. THE COLOR OF ANARCHY

 

Crows are the color of anarchy
and close up they’re a little scary.
An eye as bright as anything.
Having a pet crow would be
like having Voltaire on a string.