I just want to say

I just want to say
that it doesn’t hurt much
when a crow pecks you
accidentally
trying to get the doggie treat
you are holding out for it
while sitting on the park bench
surrounded by crows
regarding you like acolytes
waiting for words of enlightenment.
It is scarier feeding a bagel to a juvenile seagull
than a snack to a crow.
This is especially true if you grew up
getting pecked by chickens all the time.
I just want to say
my thing with the crows
is not going unnoticed at the park,
a young family walked by
and referred to me
as “Professor Rabe”.
I just want to say
that I am still sadder
and more broken up by
my mother’s death
than I had expected.
But the crows help.
If someone asks me about them
I will say, “I have to come and feed them,
they know where I work and
come and shit on my balcony otherwise,”
but that is not the reason.
I know it’s just crows and doggie treats,
but it’s a comfort.

Notes on the proper selection of an appropriate amulet

Ask the sun, when you fell upon me, reflected off the orange garbage truck my streetcar was stuck behind on the way to work this morning, filling the streetcar with bright amber light and turning the interior into mysterious silhouettes, was it a judgement or a blessing? Or do you not perceive any of us at all?
Ask the crows, what say the slain? And listen to their answer: they are waiting for you to delineate your sadness over your mom dying, to put a name on it, for you to find a balance for it between heart and head but for that to happen it has to come out of the dark. They are waiting for you to understand something ununderstandable.
Ask the bear, do you feel like I do when I am walking down the stairs at the subway station and faster descenders pass me right and left when you stand in the river and running salmon crowd past you on their way to spawn, or is there a difference bc you are eating them and I am not? And are people right who say a fish does not perceive the water surrounding it, or are fish as aware of it as we are of air and ground, do they even hold swimming contests and do they maybe, crowding into the mouth of a river on their way to spawn, arrange dates when they hit it off, baby that shady spot under the alder tree, lay your eggs there, I have so much milt for you.
Walk in a circle while reading the instructions on the can of blue insulation foam, especially the bit that says ‘only fill the space 1/3 of the way with foam, as it continues to expand after application’ because if not the foam will expand uncontrolled and drip onto the floor and onto the attic ladder/steps, the bookcase, two books, your slippers, your shirt, your glasses and your hair, and if that happens do not try to wash it out of your hair because the instructions also say, For better adhesion dampen target area prior to application, and if you read that after making your hair wet you will feel like a moron, justifiably, and the insulation foam remover you rush to the hardware store for won’t work for you either, although if you make an emergency appointment with your hair stylist she will, together with two colleagues, in the emergency hair salon operating room you didn’t realize they had, using the foam remover and some stuff they use to remove hair extensions, in a dramatic and slightly painful medical-drama-style operation not only successfully remove every last bit of foam (which is, chemically, a close relative of super glue) from your hair, which you had expected would have to be shaved off, they will also laugh while working on you and say, “This is a first, this is one for the books, we have never had anything like this,” and ultimately style your hair and leave you looking nicer than ever, and charge you such a paltry sum you give everyone big tips.
Ask the crows, what say the dead, to which they will answer, nothing today.
Then wander into the junk shop with your eyes closed and hold your hands over the amulets and feel the vibes.

Exit, whistling

Man, Woman: (load catfood, dog treats and flea/tick ointment onto conveyor belt)
Cashier: (Rings up purchases)
Cashier: (Hands woman two envelopes of dog treats) We’re giving out these free samples today.
Woman: (Examines treats, hands them back) No, thank you. We don’t have dogs.
Cashier: (Glances at large bag of dog treats they just bought, looks puzzled)
Man: Oh, those are for crows.
Cashier: (Does that half-nod thing where your chin goes up but not back down again, remaining in up position while the wheels turn)
Man, Woman: (exit, whistling)

Rainy day

It’s raining. The light outside is remarkable. Dark sky, with brighter spots lighting various deciduous trees turning gold at various rates. A glossy wet crow stands on the balcony railing outside my office. I go outside and place dog treats along the railing. Before I’m even done, I glance over my shoulder and there’s another crow 2 feet away with a beakful of dog treats hurrying me up.
Hang on a sec, I have to go back out and refill the dog treats.
Ok.
The problem with life is eventually the crows shit all over your balcony and someone says, hey Mig stop feeding the crows they’re shitting all over the balcony.
Hang on, they’re cawing at me for more treats. BRB
Thing is, though, it’s also nice to tell yourself you know the crows know they can count on you.
Maybe the rain will wash the shit away.

Yes, so

crows
Establishing shot: Galaxy
Quick zoom from there to face of (anti-virus) masked man as he – walking down crowded sidewalk – realizes he is audibly muttering the word, “idiots”.
Over and over.
His eyes, as he realizes this, express a complex emotion. Like, he agrees with himself, but he hadn’t realized he was saying it out loud.
Saying it at all.
Later someone tells him, I quit reading your bread-baking story halfway through bc bread baking doesn’t… I just don’t bake bread.
Later, someone else he is telling about hiking abruptly changes the topic to the virus.
Yes, he says. The virus.
Yes. So.
On his lunch break he walks to the store and buys a sandwich. All the way there, crows scream in the trees lining the street. It feels like a ticker tape parade, just with screaming crows.
That cheers him up.
In the trees.
On a stop sign.
Atop a parked car.
Standing in a gutter.
Watching him from a fence.
A woman zipping down the sidewalk on a scooter nearly hits him from behind. He hadn’t noticed her at all.
Fuck!
Perched on a telephone wire.
He resolves to ask his new therapist what one can do to not be a boring old fart.
Atop a moving truck.
But he knows already. Lose 20 pounds and keep your mouth shut.
Standing in the grass.
Flying over his shoulder so close he feels the wind.
Screaming, screaming.

Two men on a windy day, hearing aids, crows and explosive chemicals: a play in one act

Man: Hello?
Other Man: Psshht weee bzz pssshshhh delivery flmflmflm psshhhh bzz.
Man: (Throws dog snacks to two crows)
Man: Sorry, what?
Other Man: (A little plaintive) Psshhh bzz I’m woooom flmflmflm bzzz (delivery company name) bzzz home?
Man: (to the crows) Here you fuckers.
Other Man: ???
Man: I’m terribly sorry, I’m outside and it’s very windy. Would you mind repeating one more time?
Other Man: I’m bzzz pssshhhweee (delivery company name) delivery at (recites man’s address) no one home?
Man: Ah, gotcha. No, no one is home. You can just leave the parcel by the door.
Man: Here’s your last handful, you greedy wankers.
Man: Or, you know what, you’re at the house now?
Other Man: Yes (recites address again)
Man: There’s a terrace behind the house. Just put the parcel on the table.
Hunting dog walking by on leash: (Sniffs man’s dogfood pocket)
Man: Hey fuck off buddy.
Other Man: There is a table. On the table.
Man: Yes. There is, like, a little roof over the table. And the item in the package is not sensitive even if it does rain (just keep it away from open flame if you know what I mean) (and don’t drop it) just put it on the table (cats will pee on it but I’m throwing away the box anyhow).
Other Man: Okay.
Man: Thanks! Have a nice day!

Fantasy

Her: … so your turn, what’s your fantasy?
Him: Erm.
Him: Instead of Covid-19 it’s Corvid-19 and spread by crows and everyone is afraid of crows.
Him: All but one hairy old guy.
Him: Who they call the Crowmaster.
Him: But he’s not a master of crows. He’s more like a pal.
Him: That’s how it looks from his side. Who knows what a crow thinks.
Him: Could be they just like his dogfood.
Him: But when dozens of squawking crows swirl around him in the park on a windy day, he can understand where the Crowmaster comes from.
Him: And because everyone else is shunning crows, his flock in the park gets bigger and bigger.
Him: And the weather gets windier and windier.
Him: And people get more and more scared. Of him too.
Him: And crows everywhere, hanging in the wind, squawking in all the tree branches.
Him: On the windiest day, so many crows are flying around you can’t see him anymore.
Him: He disappears from view.
Him: The wind dies down and the crows disperse.
Him: And the guy is no where to be seen.
Him: Then maybe it snows a little bit, before the sun comes out.
Her:
Her: Ok.