CARRION

By Gene Lass

In the sky above our parking lot

Buzzards circle

Riding on updrafts

Never flapping

Stacked in layers

One above the other

Like platters

I long thought they were hawks

Eagles

Something majestic

Until I spotted them on the ground

One or two

Hunched on power lines

A gang of them

By the stop sign on the corner

Ugly and black

Avian thugs

Now, they hover over me

As I walk to the car

I watch in wonder

Then curse them for their mockery

I’m 54

Newly unemployed

But goddammit

I’m not dead yet