There’s no sympathy for the roadkill crew,
Black wings, silver glinting, shadows soaring.
Undertakers are seeking the concrete.
Gliding roadside, gutter plunder, sweet meat,
Street treat, a lethal diesel upheaval
Defied the divide, collide, blood, guts, slide.
Sun roasted hide flavored with pavement spice.
Shadow grows, scavenger’s death mask hungry,
Eat the disease, humanitarian.
Fried carrion, vulgar task, clean-up wake
Of vultures, a barbarian culture
People see as evil, rapture-lovers.
Sinister buzzards, feeble thoughts plunder
The bittersweet deeds of the death griffon.
Price given, spied, enticed, crud dried curbside
Busy beaks dive inside, so indiscreet,
The intimate sanitarian feeds.
Life cycle structure, no escaping death.
Ominous cape, feathers, fingers of strife
Seen above, ushers of what is to come.
There’s no sympathy for the roadkill crew.

Beat Poet Laureate of Maine 2024-2026, Claire Conroy has self published two books of poetry (“Listen” in 2018 and “Silent” in 2022) and a chapbook (“Rumors From Dead Lips” in 2024). Born in Portsmouth, NH, she is a proud board member of the Portsmouth Poet Laureate Program and is the host of their open mic, The HOOT. Claire holds poetry workshops in Sanford, Maine, where she lives.