The Missing Poster
He passed by the missing poster
On his way from the toilet.
Contemplating, briefly, the fear.
A nameless, numbered, teenaged girl.
Wasn't old enough to rebel,
But she was old enough.
She was probably freshly dead,
At least he prayed that she was.
Half-buried, gas station meadow …
Complacent field of shady green
With blue, gold and lilac sprinkles
Of freshly mowed, perfumed, sweetness.
A hawk picked off a tawny life
Among the morning's golden dew.
Meadow-larks herald the rising
Of a cold, unnoticing sun.
Each lowly creature preyed upon
By a higher link in the chain …
God at the top, preying on all.
Psyche fluttering to each bloom
Without discretion or purpose,
The wind breathing on all. Senseless.
He felt no love or hate for life …
Nor wistful dreams … just acceptance.
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