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Dead cat near the mailbox

and a dead squirrel

under a pile of leaves. . .

I spy a possum 

on the side of the street

not playing itself.

It must have been

a crazy, hectic night—

a madman behind the wheel 

or a cult of suicidal critters.

It’s a cool, crisp morning;

almost refreshing

save for the carnage

only a Clampit could love.

I used to feed that cat

salmon & milk

as reward for hunting vole

in the backyard.

I never knew the squirrel

or the possum

but I’m sure they have family

that will miss them dearly.

I walk on

and the weather is kind of nice

but I only feel emptiness inside.