Black Birds Flying at Wal-Mart
I see them gather, flock on flock,
At 7:30am sharp, they start to squawk and talk.
The sun peeks up, the horizon glows,
The air alive with cackles and crows.
Their feathers bristle, sharp and black,
They soar and dip, they dart fourth and back.
Their eyes, a yellow shining disc,
Reflect the light, a golden whisk.
The parking...
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