A Grim Tale of a Road Kill

Foxes belong in tales

told to children and adults.

Not

on the road side of a pastoral narrow lane sort of road

between two wooded golf courses where as

I was going to Wal Mart   there was a (not "the")

large dead red fox

as red and winter coated luxuriously a carcass not shamed by

something fatal while

Yet even in death beautiful from black nose to tail's tip.

Who and what bumped the life out of him?

Is there a morbid morality in combustible engined

oil driven 20th c. race of humankind greedy gone

awry

and fatalistic as Beowulf's

brotherhood sea riding seeking,

sailing in tiny wooden boat

after glory in a noble cause to unblight a blighted kingdom

far far away yet homeland far gone too.

And wealth seekers as human as any humans

like cowboy oil men and sheiks using the world

as a Russian Roulette Wheel of steel,

awry explosive steel wielded by  Masters of Body Counts and Lost Limbs and Horrors

that foxes death haunts me still.

A Republican sitting on his suped up lawn mower

told me the other day, "Foxes are damned dirty things carrying diseases!" 

I said, "Yeah?"