A Crow Poem For The Hot Dogs
No more
Shoe poems and tree poems and willow trees
in the sunset.
Oh let me be the crow on the golf course,
dodging balls,
eating scraps of hot dogs
left by the hot
dogs.
Let me be the golf course crow then,
the disrespected crow,
and I will fly and caw and pick at my black wings
with my yellow beak.
And this crow will perch,
perch in a big pine tree.
This crow will
lift his head to the sky and
caw again
enjoying the day and
waiting
for hot dogs.
david michael jackson April 15, 2012