Five Years Poem by A.Z. McCoy

I drove to our old
Favorite BBQ spot,
The pit with its sweet tang in waft,
Seeing us laugh and joke,
where your shoulders lost their slump
The mechanical-looking crows hopping,
doing 'the Egyptian' without arms,
in search of the next fried scrap
Oily black majesty seeping from their feathered chests
I fed them today,
what couldn't be good for them,
couldn't be good for us
And through some brisk wind
An inch-worm found my hand,
held tight in its peel around,
blind search for a spot to set down
it's been five years, friend
The meteors dash the sky tonight
Leonids, I'm told, but all I see
Are momentary scars in a soft sky
How far the inch-worm must go
In search of its home,
unknowing, blindly avoiding the crow.