Part I

Though I am no expert on birds
it seems to me to be
peculiar when the crows all crowd
about the maple tree.

Beneath them wails the ambulance
that calls with siren song
til they all flock and preen as one--
together caws the throng.

And when then the crows all crowd
beneath the maple tree
to settle in and watch a show,
the wheeled-out man debris,

the clouds drip slow like leaky sinks
the sun runs quick to hide
because they know when gather crows
there is no time to bide.

For when the crows all crowd outside
your house is not your own
for soon they will all swoop inside
to drop a crow-chick bone.

And soon they will all swoop inside
to take away your home
for just as long as they need stay,
the crows who always roam.

Part II

But one alone will follow swift
after the ambulance
and at the hospital she’ll watch
then quick make her advance.

For when the man debris wheels out
She will fly down to land
with great precision to the inch
upon the man’s left hand.

And then her claws will puncture deep
into the man’s left hand
and he’ll cry out, alert the nurse
to creeping inky band

beneath the skin of his left hand
all that they will know
for neither nurse nor man will see
the creeping inky crow.

And as the sun will rise through mist
away the crow will fly
and through the man a poison seeps 
in seconds he will die.

A man already half-dead brought
too soon to death’s black door
and stand he there with half a glare
still too confused to roar.

For justice wasn’t he who brought
this man to death’s black door
as by his side his young wife cried
and stunned youngest son swore.

Not justice but the crow of black
who takes life as she will
for naught but home for restless beasts
while screeching her voice shrill.

Part III

Then back at home the crow chick bone
begins to shudder wild
and out of bone she shattered pops
a part-crow human child.

Through door left wide open in haste
In comes the death she-crow
who slips into the new child’s mouth
a piece of captured soul.

for when the inky band appeared
it was the place she stole
a tiny sliver, hardly much
of nearly-dead man’s soul.

And now the tiny tot will grow
while carried on black wings
from house to more death-emptied house
as mama crow death-sings.