Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Uproarious

A pair of 
roving black 
crows—perched
 
for a 
moment 
on a mound of 

dead wood—flaps
and

cackles
loud over the post-
storm scree and rubble.

Itinerant 
bastards themselves—they know

that home 
is not a joke—at least

not in the same kind
of side-
splitting way

that 
flood
insurance is.

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