by Howard Richard Debs

Two large black birds
maybe ravens, hard to say,
were seen picking at a carcass
in the road.
Roadkill no doubt,
who can tell?
What was it? A possum,
possibly, a raccoon, hard to know.
Whatever, it must have strayed
onto the roadway and must have
gotten in the way of some
night time driver heading
to Santa Fe, or just going home.
It was after all, a dark night,
a rain had lightly fallen, the
pavement therefore wet and slick,
the car just might have had
a skid, it’s tough to be sure
in such cases what really
causes such a poor creature’s demise.
There was blood no doubt, blood
all around, it seems not even rain
can wash away the blood of
that which is now defined as —
dead and decaying — carrion.


Howard Richard Debs received a University of Colorado Poetry Prize at age 19; after spending the past 50 years in the field of communications with recognitions including a Distinguished Achievement Award from the Educational Press Association of America, he has recently resumed his literary pursuits. His latest work appears or is forthcoming in The Germ, Calliope, Big River Poetry Review, Jewish Currents, Poetica Magazine, Misfitmagazine, Eclectica Magazine, Star 82 Review, The Review Review, China Grove, Belle Reve Literary Journal, Verse-Virtual, Dialogual, Sediments Literary-Arts Journal, and Piecemeal Review.

Read more about this author, and the process behind this piece, here.

Category: Poetry

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