in universal travail

Harvey S. Mozolak

on my way to church

out of no where

in my speeding path

a squirrel running 

across the road

not a thought 

less an instinctive

stomped foot down

only a slight thump 

“Oh, my….”

(without the comma)

(godless)

the tail and body

now a lump

smear near the center line

in the rear view mirror 

“nuts!”

the expression comes from

nutts a fondness for the fruit

fallen back now a mile

life there and completely gone

in the blur per hour

the sweet meat

of the hard-kernel boned-head

cracked hope for all that is hoped for

in the head of a twitching searching

burying body

gone

no tree to rescue

for the beast 

only for the wheeled priest

wielding death

on a groaning creation