The King of the Track Meet
The raccoon who went to die alone in the concrete walls of a dry culvert,
washed out one day in a spring storm where the water ran off roofs
like water from a fire hose.
His flesh mostly gone-just scuffs of fur like a mantle around his neck.
His funeral gasses greening the blades while blue bottle flies
emerge from the crevice of his mouth and the nostrils of his nose.
Yet the girls in royal blue, passionate scarlet and wild cat purple tanks,
carrying javelins and poles, oh so slowly and nonchalantly
walk by his cadaver without looking.
Boys in pirate black with red sashes,taunt the air with metal fists.
The king’s body is lying in state by the sidewalk
where no one pays any attention to him.
I pause briefly,
and I contemplate his body resting in a poor man's grave.
Author: Barbara A Meier
Photo: Jack Bulmer on Unsplash
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