To the crow, cawing is beautiful.
Let other birds whistle, chirp, and coo.
Crows speak the language of street vendors,
Tax collectors, factory foremen,
Signs that say, “No Trespassing,” nurses
Telling you to clear the room. Black wings
Abruptly shadowing the sidewalk,
They come to rest on street lamps, call out
Grim shouts of love and panic, warnings
To small-feathered warblers, sweet singers,
And sparrows to keep their distance. They
Know better than to trust anything
They cannot crush in their beaks and eat.
by George Franklin
From Cagibi Issue 3: Two Poems by George Franklin
George Franklin practices law in Miami and teaches poetry workshops in Florida state prisons. He received his MFA from Columbia University and his PhD from Brandeis University. His poems have been published in The Wild Word, B O D Y, The Threepenny Review, The Quarterly, Verse, Salamander, Matter, Scalawag, Sheila-Na-Gig, Gulf Stream, The Ghazal Page, Rumble Fish Quarterly, Vending Machine Press, and Rascal.
Cagibi Issue 3
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