As the crow flies
It’s a hair-trigger’s breath
From holiday to death
As the crow flees the beach
The camera cowers
Howls
Red-eyed
Shuttered
It’s sold its heart of art
For a full spread in the gutter
As the camera laments
It’s not designed to rewind
The terrified sea
Grabs its bags and takes flight
Washes up in Italy
Another frightened migrant
Stranded, the sand
Stuffs its pockets with its hands
All is rage
So, who’ll try to understand
It’s not the guilty party
When bloodstains are proof
Who will move the mountain
For a single grain of truth
As the last sand slips the hourglass
The gun
Exhausted
Recoils
Rests its barrel
Has a smoke
Then cocks an ear
For whoever’s shouting loudest
And begins to plan
Its next holiday