Intersection

The frigid breeze blows but

nothing moves. Each night car

fumes sit above the street.

No bird’s flight offers ominous

warning. No bad omens just lost fights.

The catastrophes happen like a

sudden fall. Everyday, a succession of

last rites.

The slaughter is automatic like

industrial vivisection. We

don’t seek help. We don’t mourn.

We only move the lever in the election.

Each beast crawls through its turn,

obedient to the light.