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?
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.
Copyright © Fahim Rezwan | Year Posted 2017