roadkill in riverside park

The sore wet wounds, broke open, but the break beneath;

soaked feathers splayed with raw, red meat

and the wet stains the asphalt dark.

Chest deep with muscle, useless now;

the hounds strain to know

the extent of the death.

Wait for the light to change;

to walk home, feed them, brush their fur;

born hunters that can not unlearn

the bloodlust. But the pigeon?

Wheeling harsh, whole clouds, shit stains and disease;

the filthy feet a rosy pink so sweet.

Strut proud, bright glisten.

Die in pursuit of crumbs.

© 2018 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.

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