The crow can’t sing, it clicks

Down the blooms fell, a different kind of fall. We did the spatchcock chicken again with the New Orleans rub and the leftover corn and asparagus. It was one of the best days I had at my new job, and on my walk I was proud of myself for trying something new, for doing it well. Through the arc of fear and self-doubt, it felt like I was getting off the ride exhilarated, a bit younger feeling too.

Smashed fries on the road
a treasure for some, the crow:
who props the paper bag
with her beak and carries
it to her nest,
a crow-smile,
and good way
to start my day.


Photo by Laitche, Wiki Commons: Jungle crow, Tennōji Park, Osaka



Categories: Memoir, musings, poetry

Tags: , , , , , , ,

10 replies

  1. The crow is so frequently seen in India, that noone cares to photogaph it

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “Through the arc of fear and self-doubt, it felt like I was getting off the ride exhilarated…” that’s a keeper, and really like the poem.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. I had to Google spatchcock chicken. Do you know how to de-bone and everything?

    Like

    • Dude, like you (I think) I am a total freaking wimp when it comes to butchering meat. Is that a fair comment for you too? I have the butcher take the back out. Too much like biology class for me. But man you should do it! Grill it under a couple bricks like the Eye-talians do! Look it up! Brine it and then grill it under something heavy, bricks, or hubcaps, whatever you have handy laying around the garage.

      Like

      • Here’s the not-funny O. Henry twist. My Da was a butcher. But since he refused to acknowledge my very existence, I never learned how to cut meat. You’d think he’d at LEAST teach me how to carve a turkey but, no.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Oh my god. Not funny. Not cool. What the heck Dad. Butchers kind of intrigue and frighten me, guys good with knives and parts.

        Like

  4. Chicken and chips. Very tasty.

    Liked by 1 person

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