Today, I’m stuck in the middle of the middle.My place is in the last row of the classroom.Yes, there I’d slump, cigarette in hand,marveling at the attention not paid, smoking,in the back, before second hand smoke killed us.
Now, still, I’m sitting in the way-back,where I can flick my ashes on the floorand exhale freely.
What I really want is a crow’s eye view,that dining-on-roadkill existenceof the silky-smart bird I’ll never be.
I want to perch on the top branch and caw, caw, caw,steal chip bags from your golf cartand have the hungry flock to my plunder.
I want to shock the whole damn murderwith my magnetic height and depth,and do it all from the smokey back row.
Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash