some days we declared
it to be a crow day,
and we’d trundle along
however many of us,
to that spot where the creek widens and gets quiet
we’d sit there, stone
watching the crows, listening
to their peculiar banter
they had a leader – not always the same bird,
but always some bird
it would crane its sorry neck and caw
“once around the block, boys,”
and the murder would jump into flight
a tight circle, looping ten trees at most
before coming back to perch;
“a mile toward the sun, now,”
and they would.
they weren’t playing
or working, or hunting,
they were training.
one day percy turned to me and he said,
“maybe we could stand to learn a thing or two from these birds,”
and it was that sentiment
which would eventually destroy us.