Crow answers Ted Hughes:
Poet stares.
Poet grins.
Poet slobbers.
You do, don’t you?
“Crow,” utters Poet with satisfaction,
“You’re doing the thing you do.”
As beak jabs through the dark fur
Into darker intestines.
Beneath a cliff of eyebrows
Poet's deep eyes glow.
Poet really likes the jabbing,
Or anything with spilt innards.
Poet never comes to see Crow nest-building,
Or having a laugh with the wife and kids.
It’s just the innards-jabbing gets Poet going.
Funny, that.
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