Cosmo killed a raccoon last night.
Ellen found it by the door.
She heard the ruckus in the middle of the night.
I did not, being a sound sleeper

It’s my job to dispose of his kills.
I grab the shovel to scoop him up
Before the warm September sun
Makes him stink.

I try sliding the shovel under his soft fluffy fur
He falls off as I lift him up
A clumsy undertaker.
I should apologize

Finally, I get him balanced on the blade
Start the long walk up the driveway
Then off into the woods far enough  
To hide his stink and flies

The path through the trees
Is blocked by spiderwebs.
I whisper “I’m sorry”
As I break each strand.

In the cool morning
I throw him rudely across the big ditch  
That might keep the dogs
From dragging him home again.

Standing beside his body
I feel the need for words
Some remembrance
He was once here

I hear the cicadas,
Fewer and slower now
September having slowed their song
They’re singing their own dirge