corn farmer’s nightmare, Appalachian reaper.
hills turn a blind eye when the death harbingers
cry three times like midday chime.
the disease preens him from his bones
like roadkill. there’s a reason a group of crows
is called a murder.
front lawn congregation like Sunday sermon,
like Halloween decorations left out till February,
murmuring to one another
like regulars at the local dive bar.
he is scarecrow limbs, he is ragged beard
like stuffing pecked from beneath burlap flesh.
they wait. cackle at the mourning dove. they never could sing,
so they cluck and scream like shrews,
like my mother when he gets under her skin.
maybe that comforts him.
the morning after he dies I see one in a tree,
watching me. I take another drag of my cigarette.
Rebecca Kokitus is a part time resident of Media, PA just outside Philadelphia, and a part time resident of a small town in rural Schuylkill County, PA. She is an aspiring poet and is currently an undergraduate in the writing program at West Chester University of Pennsylvania. She has recent work in Rag Queen Periodical and Moonchild Magazine, among other places. She tweets at @rxbxcca_anna.