38/365, 19/30 We Aren't Even Crows

They think the scarecrows fool us
as though we aren't higher organisms
as though we couldn't tell the difference
between living flesh
and torn clothes stuffed with hay
as though the smell of fresh, ripe vegetables
would not overpower our senses,
override any hesitation,
keep us from eating our fill
and mocking the scarecrows on our way out.
We aren't even crows.
They aren't even scary.
They're just badly-made dolls.
Just dolls.
Creepy-eyed dolls
hanging at spooky angles
from posts, like dead men
hovering over our next meal.
I swear that one just moved.
It's just hay.
It's not real.
The vegetables are so luscious.
I want to eat them.
I ought to eat something.
It's still looking at me.
Did it wink?
It couldn't have winked.
Maybe I wasn't so hungry after all.
Stupid scarecrows.
They're not fooling anyone.
So tacky.
Surely there is another garden around here
Without one.