Road Kill

SNAKE

When you crawled onto Church Street
I thought you were a stick.
Staring at the rearview
I see the horrid flutter and flick
of lacquered skin.
A thousand megawatts
of rage and pain.
I hit you right
where your legs should have been.

Doubling back to free your soul
I pound the wheel
and bewail your choice
to warm your scales
on a street lined with shrines
to a God who cursed your legs off.
These roads cut the land like a whip.

Something's gone terribly wrong.
The fit are not winning the race.
Perfect jewels polished
by endless waves of time
lie smashed by sudden machines.

a poem by sarah craig

This essay is dedicated to Gloria, the miracle kitty. I found her half-dead, sitting in the middle of a road. Pulled over, carried her to the side then watched her crawl right back in the road. She had a severe upper respiratory infection and was pregnant, with one kitten still born in the birth canal. After a ten day stay at the vets, I still had to pick her up and carry her to the food dish. Two years later, she's alive and grateful, unlike those found here.

view gallery