ROAD KILL

Winter is the best time
to gather the hides
from road kill.
They make great paintbrushes
and Black Powder hats.

Our rubber legged tanks
roar relentlessly
between two points
of cerebral origin.

Smashing those creatures
that dare challenge our
hardened trails of concrete.

We see them
sometimes as pancakes,
puffs of fur,
a tail on tar
flapping slowly from the breezes
of relentless traffic.

We feel sadness
for the killing of nature’s creatures,
or indignation
that an animal so lowly
should dare to step in front of us








 

Causing us to swerve from our madding pace
feeling the thump of our wheel
as it sends instant pain
driving the life force out…

Or worse yet,
damage our vehicle
costing us money
and time for repairs.

There are no laws,
no broken lined crossings,
no animal stoplights,
no reflective hides.

They come to the roads edge.
They make their move
to live or die
or to be maimed.

We ride in our shells of metal,
glass and rubber,
music blasting,
and Pepsi guzzling

In our haste to get somewhere
that matters only in our minds
we fail to see beyond our window
that this dream has other life.

 

We do not feel the loss
of one dead animal,
a mother with hungry babes
waiting…

Our hurry-up pace
is a disgrace.
We honor speed over ourselves.
We worship gadgets rather than life.

We guzzle gas and beer.
We drive like maniacs.
And say, “It’s a shame.”
when our personal hell knocks.

We are interwoven with our planet.
Life has no masters.
Our deaths will come no matter how fast we go.
Perhaps someday we too
will be road kill.


Paul Rideout
August 2001