little men in all black suits
pace the parking-lots day and night
with scrawny legs and stick-like feet
piercing beady eyes and sharp black beaks
these men live so much freer than we
they scrounge for food and care not where - or what
building their homes out of dead leaves, scrap, and dirt
wandering like nomads, yet always found poking around in parking-lots
leaving black feathers on the wind, and cackling caws in our ears
Nika McGuin
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/foul-fowl/
