Caw
sound of crows outside
reminds me of the grave
where we met
and I saw your numbers
etched there
sound of crows outside
reminds me of the ebony
nightscape where I found
I could have loved you
but was not given
a full chance
sound of crows inside
tells me life is not
always fair, or rarely so
Kneecap
sliding on the pad
made for me
I rough up my skin
take on the shape
of the landscape I cover
protected by bone
that, who knows,
one day may chip
Roger Still is fairly new to poetry. His work has appeared at Belle Reve Literary Journal.
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