This Morning’s Thanks
To the man carrying the pistol in his car this morning,
To the car that flashed it’s lights as I came down the hill.
To all of us, commuters rushing to our destinations wearily,
Who pulled over or stopped right in the road
And gave witness to this morning.
to the mist on the not-quite-spring hills
That cloaked us like a loving parents arms
From the wide open spaces on that hill this morning.
To the poor yearling that flopped in the road,
Her front legs broken by the car and
Useless to stop her terror in her tumbling,
To the blood that dripped almost genteelly from her mouth.
To the people who made the two bullets
That the man – very calmly – and lovingly
Put in her skull
To release her from the pain
For the reminder that life is precious
And mercy rare
And rarer still
From the pinched and final
Mouth of a pistol.