Rowan turns into Seven Springs

Daily commute
Going 50MPH,
While putting on makeup,
A stupid song plays
On the radio.

I barely see anything
Besides the bumper
In front of me.
Occasionally, a chain gang
Clad in cartoonish
Black and white stripes
Working in the median
Catch my eye.
Mainly, because it’s 2017
Pasco County, FL,
And not a quirky Coen Brothers
Film.

A golden plume
Of fine fur
Balled into an amorphous
Pile
Idles on the side of the road.
No longer alive
Just a body;
A coyote, I’m told.
But in these parts
I’m used to nocturnal
Creatures curled up or
Smashed into the weaving roads.
Not a majestic animal.

Florida kills everything good
Or interesting.
Relentlessly grinding all the
Magic
Out of the swamp
And it’s residents.
Just stamp them out
Crush their skulls
Under thick black tires
And pass by at high speeds.

Every morning
I see the coyote
Slowly diminishing –
Returning to the earth.
Food now.
Gone now.
I take the same route
Daily.
This crushing routine
Comes with a loss of
Appetite
And chest pains.

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