A MOMENT IN PASSING
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.