Road Kill

Their guts are exposed all over the road,

terracotta tufts pulped on the tarmac.

Tiny white tips of tails lie unsanitised,

entrails turning from scarlet to black.

The purveyors of death have driven away,

not pausing to peer in their rear view mirrors.

Fur is soon seeping, fallen feathers go grey,

only the grease stains of memory remain;

a feline sized pheasant shaped foxy memorial

without faded flowers to record where they fell.

My path meandered there by fool's empty chance,

to be flattened with an inconsequential glance.

◄ It's *My* Games

Falling partners ►

Comments

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Lynn Dye

Mon 15th Oct 2012 15:35

Great poem, Alison. I too am saddened and disgusted at the carnage on our roads whenever I come across it. We recently had to pause to let a fox get out of the way, how long did it take us? Mere seconds.

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M.C. Newberry

Mon 15th Oct 2012 13:10

A sombre, worthwhile comment on the carnage caused to wildlife on our roads by hurrying uncaring "humanity". On my occasional drive down to Devon I am sadly aware of the detritus from the unwary badger or bird that has strayed to an untimely end on our roads. Is our need for speed so great that we can slaughter with such cavalier impunity? Sometimes, I try to imagine the wildlife at the wheel as unaware humanity wanders to its demise before their death-dealing helter-skelter approach! The sheer lunacy of the imagery lingers often in the mind..as it should, perhaps.

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