A SCATTERING OF CROWS

A SCATTERING OF CROWS

The Scarecrow scares no more
above fields of corn, he is tattered
he is weathered, he is worn
on his arms ravens alight
heads under wings safely cleaning themselves
dropping in from their prior height
nesting within his chest for the night.

The Scarecrow can no more
over fields of wheat his red checkered shirt is open
faded denim pants adorn his feet
days of glory no longer
even his straw is yanked and flung high
by dirt devils who mock insultingly by.

Then, his wooded vertebrae begin to splinter
with the west wind comes a blown jest
time long in wait, windy fists flapping upon crow chest
he begins popping, he begins to crackle
his arms lift, move wildly, straw-jointed fingers point, head snaps back
loudly he topples over and the sky becomes spotted crow black.

A Scarecrow forlorn, scares once more
...to the delight of wheat; the applause of corn.