Crows – A Poem

A boy is dead.

A man is accused.

Before the first hearing,

there are condemnations

flying like mosquitos over

a puddle, in the Florida

summer. Same could be said

of reporters, a murder of crows

descending on a desiccated corpse

only to feast, regurgitate, and feast

again.

The gavel is a dinner bell

for all assembled.

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