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 

This morning.


For the reminder that life is precious

And mercy rare

And rarer still 

From the pinched and final

Mouth of a pistol.