Another Crow Poem

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Another Crow Poem
By Francine Marie Tolf

I know, I know. But the bloodlust in this bird's scream
drained noon from my veins. I saw him then
on the top rail of the fence
where the trail forked--
the clouded yellow eyes filled with hate,
the slice of white war paint
splitting a beak that could dent steel.

Three joggers passed
in a flash of electric tights
and mirrored sunglasses.
The crow regarded them mildly.
Jumped down from his perch
and seemed to consider.

Then shot like a stream of tobacco spit
one last glance of malice
towards animal-loving, tree-hugging me,
before waddling into woods.