So long as the eagle-
Eyed crow flies
Straight to the bloody
Heart of the matter,
One thing is clear,
Dear—that lovey-dovey
Pair of ash-grey neophyte
Doves preening on
The edge
Of that buckling,
Pale red-tiled roof
Of the derelict,
Decaying house
Across the street
Cooing you-ah-you
Won’t be preening
There for long.