We were all gazing up from our fingernails,

some with powdered newsprint hands, some with screwed-up iscreen pixels,

some with breakfast on their trousers

and dirt picked into their yellow teeth;

we were all gazing,

the waste plant belching white excretions,  the hoardings ribboned to tickertape

and the lock-ups ground to urban chaos;

we were all gazing

and trying to read the new graffiti on the warehouse,

when a crow fell into her lap with a squawk.


The earpieces fell out.


It was my crow.

Its wings flapped a little as she struggled to get her arms out.

I told it to behave, grabbed it by the buttons and yanked it back,

pulled it long and strangled it, folded it twice and dumped it on the rack.


That’s how you deal with miscreants.

Be firm. Pretend you didn’t bring them up.