Playing God, Beneath the Overpass.

+--+

Homeless.

Still, sapped and sleepless, I sat
beneath a busy overpass.
Where a sad, little girl played,
dancing, with an old crow's face.

Her jagged teeth, licked a broken grin,
eyes stuck, like bloodshot peppermints,
counting passing cars like candy sins.

Head feathers, disheveled and frayed
bleached grey with worry and age.

+--+

Heartless.

Her skeletal hand stretches for a cat
crouched in the open, fresh cut grass.
Stalking along the thin highway berm,
where the oncoming traffic merged.

...static..

She screamed and clenched her bony fist,
and it sprung onto the teeming curve,
brakes stuttering, hissed, tires screeched and swerved.

As the cat and cars merge, a bloody mist.

...and the little crow, blows them a kiss.

+--+

Heedless.

Thirty souls sent, upon the cement,
bodies mangled, sprawled and bent,
no fire engine, or ambulance.
No sirens to sing a proper lament.

...

Skipping through the havoc, now still,
she pulls at my shirt and asks:
"Is it done now, is this your will? "
And takes off the old crow mask.

"Yes."

+--+

Headless.

She gives them brief mass,
holding my hand, as we walk...




Under the next overpass.

+--+