Let Us Crow

Yes, these birds do eat carrion.
But someone has to clean
up the corpses.
And better their foul beaks
than my clean hands.
They're crows.
Say it and it's like saying nothing.
Like grass.  Like bugs.
They're there and yet they're not there.
And all around you
the squashed raccoons, skittled squirrels,
disappear like they never existed,
as if there is no death.
Crows keep the place
looking like living.
And they sit on high branches
and caw.
If not for crows,
we'd have to sit on high branches
and caw.  
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