Ornithology & Mythology, Reversed

Crow feather and someone’s cast off works
crossed against a sign,
red letters spelling:
“No parking.  No stopping.  No standing”.
I didn’t stop to ask questions,
nor did I make the sign of any other cross.
Just another junkie mojo in a dawn street—

The crows came in droves
cackling and laughing at the day break
on the Ave we used to call home.
A priesthood of carrion
reading scats and tokens
of the last night’s action
like priests reading omens,
or bookies glancing over
the morning’s handicaps.

They knew the score,
recording all the tracks and tricks
of the walking trades, trading tips
and taking bets on the inevitable
buskers’ and hustlers’ busts and burns.
It was all they ever talked about,
in the cant of thieves who keep secrets
for the sake of keeping secrets, alone.
They believed value inverse
to the number of hands
which have held a thing,
but never missed the chance
to relieve a prior owner
of his burdens.