The noble snapping turtle
stripped of her guts
hides her head in what’s left of her shell.
For simply crossing the road she pays
with her breath,
dying in the heat while
thankful vultures swallow her
organs mixed with pavement.
Moments later, mercifully,
she’s shot in the head by a dirty boy
who can’t be more than my age-can he?
And that dirty boy, post-hole digger in his pickup, says
“Wait, ma’am,”
Hands me a pouch of tissues
And I thought,
what a delicate thing to carry.
And then I thought,
our lives are short
and filled with horror.