Vulturous Men

As four

fat black crows

feasted in the snow

on a discarded pizza box

and some crust,

I thought of your vulturous men

and how they peck you apart

when you’re laid out

on a bed of snow.

Yesterday, in the library,

when I approached the desk,

you strained your face,

trying not to cry,

but melted away

in hot black tears.

It seems we like

to mutilate ourselves

with the hard beak

of the opposite sex.

We starve ourselves

like birds of prey,

for months we refuse

love,

companionship,

even friends we turn away,

then all of a sudden,

we feed on hearts

like crows on litter and waste.

They peck at me too,

the vultures you speak—

insidiously.

After long periods of hunger,

I go out scavenging too.

All of us,

crows, scavengers, vulturous men,

our hearts refuse to eat,

then want to gorge on plates of

human lives.

We vomit up our lovers

after extravagant feasts.

CRA 12/1/2005