Omen

We sensed death before
We saw it — the singular
Crow circling above,

Eyes sharp with malice
Cawing to the low grey clouds
Threatening to crash.

Conspicuous and
Deliberate, the corpse lay
Asleep. Look, it’s a

Cat, sleeping, maybe?
Someone went to take a look.
A rat cat, he says,

With flies diligent
As first responders. What the
Hell is that thing? A

Civet, I found out
Later. A tired omen
Of how our Friday

Will go. Death lingers
Like greedy carrion raptors.
And so our day starts.