Never liked birds much

Never saw the charm in their too early morning songs

Never admired their flappity antics at bird feeders

But I feed Crow each morning

Each morning Crow screams at me

from his high branch perch

On my days off Crow screams at my coffee on the patio

When I’m late for work Crow screams at my mad rush to my car

I don’t know why I keep feeding Crow

Maybe if was the imperious shine on his feathers

Or maybe it’s his annoyed stiff-legged march as he awaits his daily handful of nuts

Maybe it’s my love of Edgar Allan Poe

I don’t know

I just know I’ll feed him tomorrow