Those crows recall the noon I threw
some bread to them I couldn't eat.
Now, every time I pass at two,
they caw when I'll take up a seat
to read the paper on my break.
They watch me reach inside my pack
and grab a slice of coffee cake,
still eager for another snack.

I'll leave a piece, or sometimes more,
and glance behind as they swoop by
to gobble, squabble, squawk, and soar,
while I return to work and fly
back up the stairs until it's eight.
By then, the crows desert the street,
and I head homeward, find my plate,
and wonder what is left to eat.