The crow examines the road kill
is it one of its own? Is it fresh enough
to snap down the gullet
a morsel to alleviate what gnaws.
But no swirling aftermath here,
the steady march of maggots
willing to unburden the bones
are absent from this gentle creature,
a storm-torn umbrella, gutted,
skeletal spokes bared in accusation.
Crushed into the verge, its imprint
the wing of a baby pterodactyl
from which the crow has deduced
its direct descent.
Fiona Curran lives and works in London. A recent graduate of The University of East Anglia's Creative Writing course, she has been published in poetry magazines in both the UK and US She is currently working towards that illusive first collection, and hopes to see one published before she dies.