Engine Poem by Francis Santaquilani

The crows are back.
Dropping fast
And fat.
Dragging dirty clouds
Behind them.
Twinkling in the dwindling light.
Just in the nick of time
Before the colors and joy
Rise chest high and
My pump shuts down
And my pistons die.

I needed them yesterday.
I need them like coal.
I scoop them up and
Shovel them in
Keeping my hate for you
Belching black smoke.

Up north
They were your enablers,
Your yes men.
They have your eyes.
They hopped nervously,
Biting their tongues,
Pockmarking the perfect snow,
Waiting to chime in
Until your serrated words finally finished
Tearing through me
And the echoes smothered
In the cold, orange tinged sky.

They kicked away the debri and
Pecked at the scraps for
What was left of me.

It's good to be angry
And hating at full steam again

Downtime feels like death.