Children That Stay Away From Home

The green-eyed monster has set its wanton children free After a blue-bottle they now run awry They barrel through beneath me, Raising a raucous as if a tin can tied to the tail of a car Beating on grey asphalt. I look at the young imps from the top, As I hang from a steely rope They are now being followed by an old man By the name Brouhaha. The working class heroes are swarming the streets In their blacks and grey. Sneering and snickering they move away Through them the young imps move and melt And get dissolved like roaches in the night. The wind destroyed the sheen of my black plumage Still from the wire I do gaze What are all those glistening in the sun? Animal offal? The crow in me caws in prickly vocal As I think it’s food that I might be offered I unsheathe my liquid wings in the air And swoop down smooth as scissors through paper What has happened to those guts and kidneys shining in the sun? I scream and caw in disbelief. As I look at the road strewn with Technicolor ideas; Glistening like coins in the sun Now they are just cigarettes gone cold.