Consequences of Inaction
The rain leaves dirty streaks on my carcass.
My spine has managed to hide in the hot earth
but useless finger bones and yellowed ribs
are still visible. Eventually, they will sink without protest,
even with nothing but the weight of air to press them down.
The gravediggers and corpse-eaters have all died.
Jackals don’t cackle. No circle of vultures
crown the sky with feathered silhouettes.
Near me, a lion’s skull lies askew by a dull mat of wool
– all that is left of a lamb it never had the chance to consume.
This tableau is unforgivable but there is no one left to know it.
May 15, 2019