A crow walks

the yellow line,

head bobbing,

wings folded,

boldly braving traffic,

focused on

the banana peel

glistening,

its heady scent

wafting with the breeze.

Just the thing

for his stash

of rotting rubbish.

Reluctant,

he relinquishes

the pavement

for a car,

only to return

cawing at the air

cheering his own gall.

 

By Diane E. Dockum