Beetle and Murder

There is a beetle at my sill
Beyond my writing desk
On the other side, standing still
Seven crows, busy at a task

The fine mesh screen lets in a chill
Still he stands statuesque
I’d shoo him had I stronger will
Or a crow could answer my ask

Why do they stand so deathly still
Is this a trick or test
Is fear keeping him at my sill
Have they pestered him in the past

I descry not a clacking bill
Nor any fighting wrest
I hear neither a shriek nor shrill
To suggest someone is harassed

I do not know the beetle’s will
The crows seem occupied
Of these goosebumps, I’ve had my fill
It’s time to be freed of duress

I nudge at the beetle until
He spreads his wings to fly
As the window slams to the sill
The murder does what it does best

Then I cry in an awful guilt
Sweat beads upon my brow
Each of my sobs ends in a lilt
Because I know I’d do it again





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Photo by Salomé Guruli on Unsplash

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