View from the Kitchen Window

Crows come for my compost
 

gliding in to sort and sample
 

my table scraps: stale bread
 

with lawn trimmings; leaves
 

and fish heads peppered
 

with woodstove ash.
 

Sometimes flapping fast
 

loud and raucous
 

chasing away thieving jays,
 

ofttimes cautious, swooping in
 

on a whisper to keep a distance,
 

dark sentinels standing suspicious
 

of a lunch free for the taking.
 

Perched on trees and toolshed eaves
 

surveying their surroundings
 

they keep watch in turns to mine
 

the pile and fly off one by one
 

boasting of their plunder.