who’s this dead
run over by cars
and maybe trucks
found at five am
as I drive up Milton Road?
who’s this dead?
head pressed flat
and close to the road
tummy split open
and never too early for crows;
and fur still clear on the tar
and limbs outstretched
who is this dead?
poor misfit creature
who can’t negotiate our roads
who are you,
you gentle creature?
some gentle being who came down
from the trees at night
perhaps taking a walk
or looking for food
and knocked down dead
by tyres and such power