the crows keep cussing, it’s 4 AM
they quip like keys of an accordion
they bicker close (their stomaches bellow)
and stomp in boist’rous saltarello
i rap the window, they scatter numb
like goldfish tossed from an aquarium
they reconvene though (the lamppost totters)
and fly back here with sons and daughters
who dive in first now, through the den
and strip the walls’ exoskeleton
my cupboards empty (the soup bowl shatters)
the carpet’s picked and pecked to tatters
the family albums, yarns of phlegm
their people, places jettisoned
i’m on the porch (my rooms in sockets)
there’s no possessions in my pockets
Words by Rick Stachura. “Chronicle of a House Foreclosed.” November 2020.
Photo by Rick Stachura. 32nd Street in Astoria, Queens. September 26, 2020.