Though I was in no hurry
It was rush hour
When I passed on the road
An egret
Hit by a car other than mine
Dying.
White feathers bloodied
Broken wings
Crushed innards.
Standing over him
Was her.
Her white feathers were not bloodied
Her wings were not broken
Her innards were not crushed,
But she was
Letting out a shriek
Hideous enough to evoke doomsday.
What did she know of cars?
No more than he.
The two of them
With shattered dreams
Could not understand
Their befallen fate
As he slipped from her wings.
And I
In stop-and-go traffic
Just drove on.
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