"My son says

the subway doors

are not quite

an E flat

when they close,"

she says.

The man

who tunes pianos

smiles knowingly.

"He will have to learn

to make accommodations",

he says,

"because the world 

is not

in perfect pitch."

Then the crows come,

one by one.

So bleak.

So scrawny.

Compared to what?

Smaller birds squawk


at their presence.

But they are not hawks.

They perch

rather than swoop.

They natter 

rather than act.

They are amoral

not malevolent.

Their arrogant caw 

offends me

(though I would not know

an E flat

from the bleat

of that train whistle

I hear).

I must learn

to make accommodations. 

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