Poets and Roadkill

by David Ackley


                                  It is indisputable that poets love roadkill,

                                  that in poems, animals are put to painful

                                  and implausible deaths, that the struck doe

                                  with her fetal living fawn is pushed over the

                                   embankment by the poet-assassin, that the quiet

                                   hedgehog is mauled in the blades of the poet's

                                   mower, that bears are stabbed in the gut

                                   by the poet's swallowed bone-spear, that wolves

                                   serrate their tongues bloody on a bloodpainted

                                   honed knife, and bleed to death, somewhere in the

                                   tundra not far from that agonized bear, groaning

                                   over its gutting.


                                   In the best, dying is neither quick nor kind,

                                   but cannot be ignored. We are invited

                                   to attend, while there is still time.