It must have been
Thursday evening
the hare tried
outrunning the 4 x 4
and lost–
left to die alone
unclaimed
as dawn lit up
the Looney Tunes carnage.
Driving past,
I thought the city
would be quick
to remove the
crushed cold body
later that day–
blood pooling under
its splayed back-legs.
Came Monday
Bugs was still there,
cars whizzing by
his now-flattened head–
bits of fur and testicles
scattered everywhere
rolling-pinned to pavement.
Shit, I said
to no one in particular,
I always pay my taxes.
Scrape that fuckin’ rabbit
off the road.