“KHAA! KHAA ! KHAA!â€?
Bellows a crow atop the lofty tree across the street.
I exchange looks with the empty air before me,
As though a companion were walking by my side.
“KHAA! KHAA ! KHAA!â€?
His voice was husky, raspier, on the path to hoarseness.
And his cohort—a twin, from my viewpoint,
Dashes upward and perches by its feather.
“KHAA!â€? One last from the untarnished-skinned blackbird.
As I approach this segment of Griffin’s apex,
A rusty red Suburban roared its way up to the stop sign,
And after three seconds thundered down the road,
Lagging in its haggard years,
Yet battling its elderly era.
Carving my arc around the corner,
I glance across the street again,
To be greeted by the rumbles grumbles of dogs,
Not grousing like mouses,
But still zealous to leap right out of their houses.
Moments later, a pigeon, meters in front of me,
Flees the beige gutter as my soles creep near.
And I ask myself, curiously, yet with a lustrous scent of humor,
Why do they become so aggravated by me?