Synaesthesia Magazine Cities - Page 76

A crow drops from a tree

like a falling apple -

crooks its neck

to eyeball me.

It is joined by another

and together they blunder about the pebbled ground

like coppers looking for clues.

Occasionally they squawk to each other,

the first all “look, bawss” and

“I dunno, bawss” and

“something’s up, bawss.”