At 6 AM as I sat
on my porch
drinking coffee,
smoking an evil
cigarette and
thinking of nothing.

Exactly eleven crows
on the electric wire
began hurling
what I imagine
were cacophonous
insults at my
barely alive being.

I answered nothing.

Crows are not
to be messed with.

They have powers.
They remember slights
and are prone to plan
violent revenge.

Why do you think in
groups they are called
a ****** of Crows?

And how could I,
being one man alone,
answer an entire
choir of them?

I beat a hasty retreat,
innocent though I was.

  ~mce