RAVENS
Cawing black harbingers
of doom
Banking slowly around
in a flock
To feed of a farmers
corn
Resting on a tattered
scarecrow
Only flying away when
a blast
From an automatic,
orchestrated gun
Fires, Set to scare
them into the air
To fly back to feed
undisturbed
To once again eat
a farmers living
To flap away when a
black car sweeps in
With a professional
looking young man
With a briefcase attached
Clambers out and sits
for a meeting
Country courtesy demands
the Wedgwood
And the silver sugar
bowl
Plastic smiles from
them, nervous looks in return
As the briefcase is
opened
Bank statements laid
out, loan agreements too
The bank can no longer
carry you
We are forced to foreclose
As the black car drove
away
The bird gun boomed
again
A farmer and his wife
sat in silence
The ravens cawed,
the kettle sang
It all seemed so bloody
normal.
Ewan Elliott
02 May 1999
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