The Corvid

Downtown is empty and the crows bitch and moan.
                                    “Where’s our damn French fries? Where’d our monkey servants go?”
“They’re not leaving their metal beasts,” one crow intoned.
                         “You fool,” replied another. “Those beasts EAT the monkeys, everyone knows.”


“Are we too reliant on monkeys?”
“Let’s send out some spies!”
                                  “It’s a monkey conspiracy!” the murder’s neurotic crow cried.
“They’re plotting against us fosho!”
“Quiet you dullbeak, enough with your lies.”


“The monkeys are scared,” croaked an old crow,
venerable and wise.


(And he secretly knew a monkey, and plays with his shoe ties)
“The monkey groups are fighting. And there’s a monkey curse. If too many gather, the monkeys will die.”
                          The crows nod and murmur as if deep in thought.
                           But really they just want their fries.


Crow chatter is an omen, pure neutral. Same with magpies.

Quoth the Corvid





3 thoughts on “The Corvid

  1. This has potential to build and grow. It’s fabulous told from the mischievous crows’ perspective.
    Good use of “murder” and I bet you could play on that word…
    I love, love, LOVE the line “But really they just want their fries.”
    Should the final line be in “bwah” instead of in English, since the crows have been speaking in English throughout the poem?

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