The Scarecrow Poem by Benjamin Chew

He smiles.

Craggy, grey-skinned -
toothless - he circles his darkened lips with his
tongue,
blistering warts, they smell.

He stares - his
bulbous eyes -
goldfish jewels shining at you from behind
the prison glass.

Gollum from Middle Earth, “my precious”.

He pulls the stars from their
places, pushing back and forth.

Stretches his arms. Pulls you in like
hookers after midnight, lusting for

your life. Strangling.

Strangling. In the starlit silence of this
strange night,

crows
start to sing.