Glory be to Hitchcock

Glory be to Hitchcock

A string of ragged crows

Perched upon the wire

As it hums beneath them

So much power waiting to be grounded

Electrons, every one

Information carriers

Bursting with chatter

Digitised, legitimised dispersal

Of knowledge is power

Do the crows know

What lies beneath

How many secrets

Pass right through

Are carrion crows spies

For the revolution

Raven haired plotters

Raged against the machine

As it flows,

An endless stream of

Feathered dreamers

Decoding dots and dashes

Ones and zeros

Scrutinizing mundane messages

For hidden meaning

Interpreting the silence

For a better understanding

Of the landscape

It wasn’t always like this

It is said

Crows were once happy

To be scavengers

Carrion a plenty

Littering the plane

Human waste was such rich picking

Until recycling

Brought new headaches

Deforestation created mayhem

So many refugees

Re-homing wasn’t just for pigeons

As the fight for scant resources

Escalated

Were they forced to reassess

Their options as avian alphas

The time might be right

For fighting in the treetops

Defending the steeple

Shitting on the people

Reclaiming higher ground

Information is

The once and future king

As power flows right through them,

Stimulating crows feet

Exciting nerve cells

Raising tail feathers

All along the wiry perch

On its way

To who knows where

And back again

By bedtime.