Roadkill On The Wayside Of Mt. Moriah

The buck lay in the flooded ditch line,
his guts ruptured like the haggard hull
of a ship that had, by storm, struck a mine
and capsized, now half-sunken in the lull.
His ribs were splintered timbers splayed
while the dark water lay flat and dead,
stagnant as the stench his body made
while maggots grew like barnacles abed.
And lording over these spoils of war
like a carrion pirate over stolen treasure,
a opossum clambered up from the grassy shore
and ate to surfeit of flotsam pleasure.

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