He knows there is something there,
Something most of us can't see,
So he darts out in the middle of the street to peck
the unpeckable.
That's what crows do,
I see it and want it, but there are cars
from both directions
cars that can stop his vision in one spasm of the neck.
Still he pecks,
until the last second, then hops or flies or sometimes walks
defiantly,
leisurely,
as if his life were not at stake.
She has a family to feed,
nothing can go to waste,
Risks envelop everything, they hatch
at all hours,
so she darts, she flirts with the steel boxes
that form the carnival ride of chance.
Something I can digest is hiding from those
that do not see.
Still, she pecks until the sound descends,
she flits aside at the last second,
as if her life were not at stake.
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