Poetry Compendium


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3. Roadkill

It was hit,
And it was hit hard,
At 70 miles per hour,
On the dual carriageway. 

The twiglets served for nest making,
Insulating bald chicks in feathers,
On the dotted white line,
Of the race-track motorway.

It was a blue Honda or a Lexus,
Speeding and caught it up in the grill,
Taking it by the beak,
Like wing flapping roadkill. 

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