Interstate Epitaph

There but for the
grace of god,
I whisper as a prayer
in fast passing
for the pigeon
who lies writhing
by the overpass,
its fatal injury
too much to bear
for either of us,
so I imagine the wings
that catch its
final breaths of sunlight
are those of angels
sent to comfort
its frightened spirit,
stroke its soft body
and hush the pain
in the flash of a second
I could not.

IMAGE: Study of Mice Dancing, Beatrix Potter. Poem @2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.