Morning Yet To Come

I hear the voices on the radio
and hit the snooze button
Fifteen minutes later the alarm jars-
I shut it off
Time for dreams to disappear and day to begin:
Legs swing from bed to floor

Although inside the house my wife and daughter are sleeping,
There is now sound all around me
Outside, I hear traffic flows in waves
onward toward Kingsway, a trolley slows,
braking the silence, gasping for air
Metal squeals mixed with refrigerator hum.

I grab the dogs and leave the apartment




The dogs pause, and shuffle by the elevator door
Maisy, my monsterous terrier moans
There is another dog, the new black puppy, and it is coming up the elevator
Maisy continues to agitate, writhing on her leash
until the elevator door opens and the new black dog leaves.

As we walk out on the street, the sun is rising
I hear birds, I see a cat, I see a man
He wears headphones
He is oblivious to the symphony around him
What is he listening to?

As we walk up the street I see  a crow on the ground next to the curb
He turns his head his beak opening but no sounds that I can hear
He is dying.

Maisy wants to know what is up with the fallen crow.
This is strange because there seems to be an understanding
between black dogs and the crows
This agreement was made in secret many years ago

The other birds,  the cats and definitely all the squirrels
did not sign on to this agreement.

It is always open season on cats, squirrels and any other bird
but the crows, they are ignored.
The black dogs do not engage with the crows.

The crow on the curb is dying.
Above, I  hear another crow
Is he singing the blues?  Does he even know about the fallen crow?
Higher above, a seagull circles and screams like Tippi Hedren
Cue the aviary woodwind section, as the smallest bird is trilling like a piccolo

There are many sounds in the morning
I do not have time to mourn the fallen crow.
There are more sounds and more morning yet to come.