Street puddle, crow drinking his reflection.

He studies our approach with the same care


we take crossing over to avoid the un-

masked woman, her cell phone voice   


loud enough to share how it went      

last night, secretions borne on laughter.  


With a hop and a lift, crow picks a tree

where he waits for us to pass and go,


the way they do when there’s something

dead in the street worth returning to


or a pothole of morning rain still fresh

with a garnish of autumn leaves.



A retired teacher of English and photography, Roger Pfingston has new poems in I-70 Review, U.S. 1 Worksheets, Innisfree Poetry Journal, Dash, Passager, Sheila-Na-Gig and Front Range Review. He is the recipient of a poetry fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts and two PEN Syndicated Fiction Awards. A new chapbook, What’s Given, is available from Kattywompus Press.

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