I stood on the side of a busy road
on a winter evening, not many years ago.
The blaring red and white lights,
sometimes yellow or even blue
had me squinting in response
but I didn't move from my spot.
No matter how close the cars passed me by.
No matter how much the lights hurt my eyes.
And I was approached by some sort of ghost
who leaned on the guardrail next to me.
"Nice weather we're having,"
he said to me in a way of greeting,
and flashed me a smile of broken teeth.
A helmet damaged and hung down his back,
the straps still clipped together.
A **** in his skull bleeding down his pale face
and several bones out of place.
Could he still feel that pain?
Next to him was his mangled bicycle.
"Bit of a blind turn?" He asked me.
It was a rather difficult turn.
I nodded my head in agreement.
"It's gonna rain soon. You should get going."
The ghost continued.
"I think I'll stay," I replied.
The ghost shook his head.
"Listen, once that rain starts
you're a few minutes away from a tragedy."
I didn't reply.
"The minute it happens, you'll wish it hadn't."
the ghost insisted.
The rain he spoke of started to fall
and I remained where I was
leaning against guardrail.

"I'm not leaving," the ghost said.
"I'm not leaving until you go home."

"Well, we have only a few minutes now.
I'll be home soon enough."

A crow rested on a fence
and I wondered what this story-book fiend
with his dark, beady eyes, clever sense
and his feathers well-preened
wanted from someone as hollow as me.
I couldn't do anything but wait and see.

What did one say when faced with a crow
who had no appointments to rush to
no place he must go?
As if speaking was something I could do.
So with a wooden arm I gave him a little wave.
Pleased, he came closer, that fabled young knave.

I could not move much and I could not speak
as the crow stopped right at my rooted feet
and prodded my foot with his beak.
I'm a listless liar he deemed worthy to meet.
So I did not speak and I did not move
an inaction of which the crow did not approve.

He flew back to his fence that creaked
and shifted when the wind pressured its joints.
The forceful draft stung my eyes so they leaked
tears, I found I always disappoint.
The crow flexed his black wings
eyes closed as, for him, the gale sings.

I croaked out a question from deep in my throat
the wind became a whisper as the crow paid attention
"Are you here to jeer and gloat
over my bad decisions and poor intentions?"
He shook that dark head and said
"You're a terrible liar. I'm here to help instead."

"But are you not a portender of death
here to show me I have the illest of luck?"
Why can I not catch my breath?
Wondrous wings glide on waning wind then tuck
neatly against his back for he chose my shoulders
to better speak words that doused what smolders.

The crow rested on my shoulders and cawed
a sound soft and broken
and I thought it terribly odd
that the crow would caw when it was well-spoken.
So when the pressure of panic permeated my chest
the crow spoke again so my horrible heart could rest

"If I were just a crow residing on a fence..."
He gestured with his wing to where he was before.
"Then I'd have left you to your own offense
and not show you what you often ignore."
His black wings pushed my head 'til I saw the gate.
Hope swung at my roots freeing my feet from their hate.

"I believe you have many apologies to make."
I nodded my head and the gate opened.
The crow continued, "The right choices often take
an ax to your tree, to your roots. With hope and
desire to change, you can grow something new."
I stepped into the world beyond the fence and away the crow flew.