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.
All rights reserved.
A mashup of other poems, with a last phrase "borrowed" from Phillip Larkin's great,"The Mower." Other debts owed to Galway Kinnell, Randall Jarrell, and Donald Hall.