SQUIRREL
I was distracted by other thoughts:
The squirrel darted left, right, I didn’t slow or hit the brakes
because I was thinking:
Dad’s first Thanksgiving alone.
Is the paint thinner and all that oil still in the basement?
It is hard to go home.
He ran under the wheels. I looked back,
his white belly shone in the sun.
This morning, wings outstretched as if in prayer,
the vultures warmed in the dead tree.
The Foundling Review 8/2012
