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
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