A Poem Must Always Begin with the Facts

I saw a crow
with a cigarette butt
dangling from the side of his glossy beak,
Bogie style.

I said,
Humphrey, my God,
how long has it been?
It seems like a thousand years,
since Rick's place,
Casablanca,
all that.

And I said,
did you ever, you know,
find her again?
The one.

And the crow said,
beat it kid, scram, take a powder,
you're blowin' my cover.

The cigarette bobbed as he spoke,
but remained in place.
And he said,

Go on, make like a tree
and leave.