Splayed and splat like mud flung fast
from a tractor's wheels,
One matted wing grasping outward,
The only discernable sign.
I drive cautiously through the sordid
scatterage,
Not wanting to feel the sickening, soft
bump through my wheel.
The abandoned crime scene dressed as a
hit and run,
On an implausible victim,
An immediate giveaway.
Murdered scavengers shot at the scene
and moved,
Laid like a warning to all; don't take
what you can't afford.
