Thursday, October 26, 2017

Admirer


A crow has been haunting my window sill, to catch a glimpse of me.

Every morning at eleven I hear his claws clatter, 
the inquisitive tap as he presses his beak to the glass,
His round eye inquires: Well, is she…? 
Once he's satisfied I’m still there, he flies away.

I doubt kissing him would produce any effect,
Other than scratches and a possible gouge or two
For me, and storm clouds in that round crow eye
And a confused racing in that grey crow chest
And maybe a fear more potent than admiration.

In any case, I’m zero princes short of a happy ending:
An admirer who isn’t creepy, 
A well-wisher who allows me my space,

And me with something to look forward to, every eleven o’clock.

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