Scavengers

Scavengers!
How they prey upon their young.
How they eat themselves to to the grave.
"How ravenous.
How a raven should not be compared to such a thing.",
he thinks to himself in a cafe of the night
She is not there. He is not waiting for her.
Everything inside is dead, except the darkness, prowlers and burglars.
The fevered junkie is not on her porch.
She loathes him, "I think he was becoming 'one of those guys...'"
and fear of nothing is greater than when they know
(how cool you are)

He could not see the bleached white bones.
She would not seek the river smooth stones, skipping on the water
just beneath the old swimming pool
where,
when the moon was high and full and new,
sinners and lovers and smokers would go.