bald eagle. Dead Dog. a poem.

I never knew nothing bout' neither of you
one trotting
and sniffing
just looking for food.


Then headlights and screeching.
A loud Ka-Pow.
Then you, old black dog,
you became the dog chow.


I don't know too much bout' our proud nation's symbol
that flies through the skies and rests by the river.
I imagined them diving and catching their prey
then flapping
and flapping
before flying away.


I drove many miles before I seen what is real
Nature is cruel and a dog is a meal.


A sharp yellow beak on a big ol' white head
He stood on top of that dog, with his feathers gone red.
Just chomping
and munching
and picking away
I learned something new about eagles that day.


But I haven't gone soft, eagles still have appeal.
Roadkill for some, for others a meal.