THE WHITE CROWS

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I should have known
The moment I woke
They had meaning
The platoon of birds
Sitting far too still
On the fence outside
As if at attention
Waiting for orders
They were white
Not doves but crows
As if covered in paint
Or baby powder
Or soft fuzzy snow
Like a line of cocaine
They stood wing to wing
Humming in unison
Baritone chords
Ringing so loud and clear
I had to hold my ears
I walked slowly forward
Listening to their hum
So awed by what I saw
That I missed the hole
Gouged into my chest
Or the dry blood stains
On my new white gown
Or how the devil
Was standing there
The commander
And chief being hailed
By his own angels
To welcome me
To the only home
That welcomes those
Without a heart


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