The Suburbanite Speaks of Crows
by Jeannine Hall Gailey
My grandpa always said not to shoot a crow
unless you can kill it on the first shot.
They always remember.
Luckily, we were walking slowly down Post Alley,
it was chilly for August that afternoon,
and we stopped for an instant
to gaze greedily into the steamy windows of
one of those clichéd Seattle coffee shops
and then, out of the corner of my eye
I saw the swoop and shadow and claw, and held
my brother back with my arm
just as a hulking crow sent a missile with virulent aim
crashing just where we would have stepped –
a jagged green half-bottle shattered on the pavement.
I said, how did a crow carry that big piece of
and my brother said, that crow was trying to kill
And we turned to one another and laughed and said,
this must happen all the time in the city.
Just the same, we eyed all crows perching at
or wandering the parking lots of grocery stores with
for months after that.