52 Crows, Week 28



In the centre of President’s Park,

she stands, arms outstretched,

cradling a taxidermic crow

in the palms of her hands;


presenting it to the world

like a sacrifice. Black wings

murder a blue sky

then weigh down


the top branches.

Deafen the dog-walkers,

joggers and chess-players

with their screeching and cawing.


They jump from branch

to branch and then,

as quick as they arrived,

fly away; respects paid. 


 Follow Gaynor: @gaynorkane or FaceBook: gaynorkanepoet



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