The Crows By David Michael Jackson The criticism struck into him like a butter knive slides through butter he was butter itself in the other man’s hands so he looked out the window and watched the blackbirds weaving a tapestry in the sky They chased a hawk on the winds swooping to bite at his body as he tried to elude them Caw Caw Caw they cried. Caw Caw Caw His eyes returned to find more criticism in the look on the man’s face The hawk flew steadfastly and tried no more to evade The crows picked and picked until finally the hawk slowly faded into the sky and the crows returned to wait More critisism struck home this time “Do you understand me, Mister?” “Yes I believe I do” Copyright © 1998 by David Michael Jackson, All rights reserved Send private comments to author:  editors@artvilla.com ----------Art by David Michael Jackson Home