Generic

Chasing Crows 
Town in middle of nowhere, 
dark cloud densely hovering, 
avian words travel like chinese whispers; 
cloud rises, spreads thinner as I pass below, 
nose of my chevy eating tarmac, 
its driver in panic and foreboding. 
There, before and above me, 
shimmering, fluttering blackness, 
the haunting din of crow-talk 
willing me to follow -- as if I have choices. 
I obey, chasing them, foot to the floor, 
determined to overtake. 
Crows, by the hundreds, 
(a murder of crows, I recall, shivering) 
unwillingly chased by their pursuer until, 
in one telepathetic moment, 
they turn, regroup darkly 
and pass over me again. 
I drive on, blue skies ahead, but 
I hear them laughing behind my back.