Slobbering buzzard in the grassy patch
spots the rot in the road.
Hops left, scoots right
like Frogger dodging Chryslers
to meet his rancid road-kill feast.
Pecks one, two, three,
with his ice pick-mouth,
cracks the skull
of some mammal
maimed to unnamable.
Pulls brains and guts
like gum off the street
from the corpse of the fuzzy guy
(that was running for his life yesterday)
Snot-noses of kids
are pressed to the glass of dusty minivans.
They squeal “Ewwww!”, but keep an eye
on the scene common to springtime.
The buzzard keeps up chomping
without notice of his gagging audience.
He’s just performing his civic cleaning for the city
free of charge.
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