It Was The Crow

it was the crow you see
black and shiny with his hood up
he passed the window as we ate
breakfast
strutting his crow stuff
could almost imagine him singing
you know - Ki ooooora, Ki oooooora
I'll be your dog
told her how I loved the crows
and her lips pursed the cigarette
vile, vicious thugs she said
they pick the eyeballs from the lambs
out in the fields
and I wondered where she got to knowing
about the cruelty of crows and
the gap in the middle of the rainbow
seemed to be pulling me towards some
hidden deeper meaning
only I couldn't quite grasp it
and her five year old dangled the feathery
tail of her pleat in the milk
skimming the cornflakes, sucked the milk off
and challenged us to scold her with
her eyes, which were brown, like her fathers
who lived near the fields, where the lambs
risked their vision on a daily basis
and my baby, who's really no longer a baby
turned and said, I love the crows too Mum
but I love the lambs more
and in my head there was a matt photo finish
of the lambs in the fields, lying on the grass, with
black holes, where their eyes should be
and flies, and I looked around the table
at the lambs, all three of them
and suddenly
I feared the crows

S.K. 09/02