Has anyone mourned your death,
or were we content on crushing your
frail brown skeletons under our boots -
we who would swerve to avoid a tire-flattened
groundhog but hesitate to push your
remains to the side to clear a path?
Even the vegans and the Buddhist monks
winced at your song; pressing
their pious hands to their ears, they must
have prayed for your death as some cheeky child
pulled your filmy wings from your molting
bodies. Maybe we're envious of a life of
fucking and dying, while we're still
trudging hopelessly among the
trees you coat like caramel, the same
ones we passed seventeen years ago.
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