Big Mutant Buzzard Motherfuckers

for John Dorsey

There’s what, maybe 9, 10, 11 of those big

mutant buzzard motherfuckers up there

at the top of the rise of HWY D (right there,

where 705 becomes the road to Methlehem),

and they’re chowing down on whatever it was

that had the misfortune of failing to deftly

side-step out of the way, when it became clear

that the theory of the unstoppable force and

the immovable object was about to be put to

the test for real, out here, some early evening,

right about sundown, or late moonlit night, even,

when there’s more deer than cars and so, for the

last couple of days, has been a regular all you can

eat buffet for this wandering tribe of old monks.