When it hit the bathroom window at nine
It broke through the glass, fell to the floor,
I dropped the straight razor I was using
Cut the throat, sent it to the merciful reaper.
The harvest of feathers mystified, I mean
Why would a crow fly that hard and fast
Like a terrorist bomber into solid glass?
It seemed almost staged, creepy for sure.
The fright was way real, it happened,
It happened weirdly in the pit of night.
Insomniac, I got not a wink of sleep
I was paralyzed like in a horror show.
Alfred H. came to mind, his killer crows
Circling Bodega Bay, hunched on fences
Cackled from the roof of that school
Beaked the wood as the gulls gathered.
But wait a damn minute, I’m home, I said
In bed with a TV remote to protect me,
What is there to dread, the waning moon
Autumn starlight in the cauldron of night
Hoot owls, insurgent vampire bats, kids?
Ah, the chiaroscuro of the mind, that’s it.
Calm down, relax, recall what Nana said,
“Out of doors the real monsters to fear
Are the two-legged ones, my dear.” but,
The bird, the confounded, suicidal crow?
I chalked it up to the underlying oddness
Of nature, a mystery, and finally let it go.
