They’ve been here all year:

a constant omen

in the wake of contagion

Plagued by the heat of a summer morning

I awoke and watched their offspring

gurgle and scream

from the chestnut tree;

abandoned between its branches

Now through winter’s lockdown

I pass them by

as their coal-black, cawing bodies

heave with each cry

and mock my solitary footsteps all the while

Today the guardians of Burgess park

gather ceremoniously

next to a trampled mask

for another socially-distanced murder