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j.l. feinstein

Nocturne

by posted in verse on permalink


On my way to school today
the car was covered—
and I mean really covered—
in birdshit.

Last night I saw the crows
they perched on the trees behind my house,
hundreds,
like some kind of movie.

We startled each other repeatedly
I stumbled out the back door
they crowed and they flew
away from me
with my wine and my cigarettes
all through the night

glass after glass,
smoke after smoke,
each time a little more slurred
and hoarse, but not tired,

a little more
relaxed
happy
not lonely…

Each time I missed her a little less,
who is gone, who can’t be replaced
except by wine and cigarettes

So another cigarette burns out its cherry
and another glass of wine is empty
and I say see you later to the night
and its crows, and turn around,
and walk back out of the night.