Crow and clown

After the party
crow and clown trade glares
The clown’s red hair makes the dark ink of the crow’s eyes run out onto his feathers
He glistens so that the clown raises his arm to blot it out
Then the full moon is covered up with clouds
The clown says,”We may as well be under the cold ground.”
The crow clicks and preens
The clown scuffs his boots on empty packs of cigarettes and flattened cans
Dew forms on feathers and sticky white make up