Wake

The vultures landed

First black wing touching the white line of the shoulder

It’s head so disproportionately small

wings spread as it hunched over it’s find,

unbothered by the cars whizzing by. 

Is that? Was it?
I ask the kids in the back

Strange

Yet up ahead, two more.

Also boldly sitting on the road.

Harbinger, warning, sign

Does death come like a bird of prey

Slowly circling, soaring before descent

Cleaning up what would spread

Leaving a mess in the wake

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