They langour
Among the powered lines
Anticipating
Anxiously
Their next meal

Roadkill
The captain, some three odd pounds
With a butcher blade beak and
Onyx feathers
Caws and bellows his commands
Swoops

First dibs on a crushed rabbit
Fills his belly
Caws twice again
Satisfied

Leftovers are for his troops
The captain returns to his post
Surveys the asphalt
For his platoons next meal

Matt Mondschein

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/counting-crows/