Skinning Crow*

A Poem

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

A whole wave of waste — and I wanted to be hunter, or something with a gun, not a pen, but a bandolier, rope

and a horse — with a name. I wanted paper to turn the colour of the Badlands as it reaches for the 23rd hour.

I wanted a crow for a pet, not for disposing of roadkill, or it could do both, but its black night skin