The Crow Conspiracy

The caw caw of QAnon.

Once upon a morning cheery, while I chatted with my Siri,

About all the tasks and errands my day’s agenda would contain,

Suddenly my dog was yapping, startled by the sound of tapping

As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my window pane.

“Tis some vermin,” I told him, “tapping at the window pane —

Probably this or maybe rain.”

Open here I pulled the curtain, the source of tapping still uncertain

’Til I lifted up the window and found a Crow from far afield;

He fluttered in completely brave, as not a single fuck he gave;

Then assumed countenance so grave, while perched on my window sill —

Perched and looking pensive there upon my window sill —

The crow whispered softly, “Jeffrey Epstein did not kill himself.”

Deep into his dark eyes peering, I thought about his crackpot theory,

Contemplating what he said as he walked toward my bookshelves.

“Excuse me if I rudely balk, But you’re a Crow who’s learned to talk,

And this is what you choose to squawk, you should go to someplace else.

I don’t have time for crazy, go bother someone else —

Please, do kindly remove yourself.”

He chirped at me and flew away, and then I went about my day,

But next morning I heard tapping somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” I said, “it’s not that crow, I told that bird he had to go,”

Still, I felt compelled to know, and this mystery explore —

I walked over to my window for this mystery explore —

The crow held a sign reading “The forensic pathologist who observed the autopsy says it was murder!”

The ebony bird beguiling my sleepy face into smiling,

With its earnest ‘you must believe me’ crowing that it swore,

“Though your story is amazing, you don’t seem to be that crazy,

So, my friend, as you were saying, dear Crow, please tell me more —

Tell me everything thy know of the pathology report!”

Quoth the Crow “The official report was faked by a secret cabal the Clintons belong to — a large, international pedophile ring!”

Much I marvelled this ardent fowl, to hear conspiracy avowed,

With an answer so unexpected — I had to stop and stare;

For we cannot help agreeing that most every human being

Enjoys thinking and perceiving they’ve seen mysteries laid bare —

Such fascinating secrets we love to whisper and to share,

Then the bird confided “They’re all lizard people and they created the Coronavirus in a Chinese laboratory to rob President Trump of a second term.”

Oh, I relished what he told me, but the dark bird would speak only

Two more words, as if those words contained immeasurable worth.

Nothing farther would he utter — but his feathers oddly fluttered —

Like a nervous man he shuddered, So I gave him a wide berth,

And he opened up his beak, and broke the silence with, ‘Flat Earth!’

Stunned, I said, “Oh, for fucks sake.”

Dejected with my lack of faith, he turned and left, was gone for days,

“Doubtless,” said I, “the Crow was simply a foolish, crazy bird,

Who once heard a conversation, a wild, musing speculation

With no kind of confirmation, he just mimics all the words —

He flies around repeating all the crazy shit he’s heard!”

And then a whisper from outside said, “Hey man, open up. You’re not going to believe this!”

His cawing reached a loud crescendo, ’til I opened up the window,

He flew in with insolence and composure stern and haughty.

“Ah, my friend, I’ve much to tell ya, Did you know there’s no Australia?

And Obama came from Kenya, via the Illuminati!”

He gloated o’er his factoids, gushing pride for what he brought me.

Then he added just for measure, “Andre the Giant had no posse.”

“Dullard!” said I, “thing of madness! — dullard still, if bird or dumbass! —

What Reddit wormhole have you gone down, then come here to report?

I realized now ’twas all a waste, none of your theories are fact-based.”

I raised one finger to my face to quiet his cawing more.

“Is there — is there any truth be had? — tell me — tell me, I implore!”

Quoth the Crow “The media won’t report these stories because they are on the payroll of the deep state. Tom Hanks controls it all from his secret lair. ”

And the old Crow, never flitting, still bullshitting, still bullshitting

On the window sill before me and with no intent to go;

And his beak was ever teeming with a madman’s batty scheming,

But as day turned into evening my hunger began to grow;

So that very night I feasted on the folly I had sown.

For all my conspiring, I ate crow. I ate crow.