Taking out the trash
Walking back from the kerb
A small form on the concrete
Between the houses.
Like a frog, or something.
I lent closer, curious
Saw a dead bird.
Young.
Just a baby.
I looked up for the nest
Saw no obvious point of origin
For this fallen angel.
Eyes turned reluctantly downward
Naked unfeathered form
Face up
Forever gone
I stared for a while
Feeling odd
Wondering
If a kick to the bushes
or a spade scoop to a trash bag
was appropriate
Or just to leave
it be
let nature take her course
some winged scavenger
would take care of this
I walked away
Imagining some tiny skeleton
remaining a few weeks later
hoping that it would be gone
tomorrow
Trusting to nature
to take care of this thing
I could not take care of myself
Would not
Death is everywhere
Sometimes it's a bird in the driveway
Sometimes it's not
