There was a time when I would aim
directly at the squirrl who dared
to cross the road as I drove by,
for I had become the cat that kills
canarys because he can.

Then there was a time when I would
vere right off the road,
risk life or bone
to save a scared racoon,
for I had become a messiah
for all that breath and grow.

But now I have seen so many saviors
impaled on road side signs,
far to many wrecks along the way.

I have learned that squirrl and coon and rabbit
possess an annoying habbit.
They will dart beneath the wheel of cars
that would self-sacrifice to spare them,
yet dodge with sure frivolity
the car that steers to kill them.

So, I have reached accpmmodation
with trapped or suicidal fauna.
I keep driving down the road,
let them choose their slaughter.

For I see a Mind behind road kill.
It works beyond my wheel.
The deer that’s smeared on a trucks grill
has died by a decision.
Who am I to not let him die
when he feels it’s time to go?
He will get on just fine, after,
and it will beat his thorny thicket.

I will let my grill,
but not my will,
be his ticket,