Crow Friday Poem: Quiet of the Park

Previously posted in the Virtual Library (Now called Pencliff)

I drift off in the quiet of the park where the rustling leaves keep me company.

I smell the meat on the burning wood of a fire pit.

I used to be hungry, now I just curl up in sleep.

Sounds of car tires spin on asphalt, peddling boys on bicycles churn their spindly legs,

traffic lights change from green to yellow to red for all eternity, long after I’m gone.

There’s a coo from a pigeon, a squawk from an agitated crow.

In the distance, I see a turkey vulture tearing up a defenseless squirrel.

I feel the loss of all the people I know.

The cycle continues with or without them, I guess.

The mushrooming gray clouds in the dusk hover over me like a warm quilted blanket

and at this moment, I feel safe.

This patch of grass is where I sleep.

©️mft

Crow Friday: Waxy Buildup

Also posted in Poetry Passion.

Don’t flush, don’t drain

my ears, Doc

then I’ll be able to hear.

I’ll hear all the chatter

in the coffee house

and won’t enjoy

my Americano in quiet.

I’ll hear the sound

of my neighbor’s stereo

or the rooster crowing

before I’m ready to wake up.

It’s better that I don’t know

what Trump is doing next

or what Bill Maher has to say

about all this political bullshit.

Don’t drain my ears, Doc.

I don’t need a hearing aid, either.

Let the wax in my ear canal build up.

I’m perfectly fine

living my life in the dark.

©️mft