Elegy for roadkill

Rain stopped populating the pond with concentric circles.

A generation of grandchildren dripped from trees along the shore.

Before I walked for morning prayer, I found a dead squirrel in the street,

placed it on a leaf pile the city will haul away in three days.

I did not pray a funeral service or dig a hole to bury it,

but I might write an elegy in honor of its passing.

Was it unlucky or too slow or was just its time to go?

No squirrels lingered about in mourning.

One less mouth to feed – more acorns for the living.

Unless I saw the body, I wouldn’t miss it either.

11-21-23