crow is worried about running out of popcorn,
eyes me from the slab
of golden sunset on the balcony rail.
crow chokes down single pieces,
flips them up by beak tip
catches them toward the back of throat,
jabs to form a cluster of five, six,
eyes me indoors ten feet away
puts them all back down,
gobbles a few more, then makes another
corn boquet, all they can carry
to the gutter by the neighbor's window,
where the super bowl woodpecker-ants
crash helmet-skulls, in singles,
in clusters ten, twelve, again line up
again on the balcony,
ants on a log
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