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The milk of human kindness has curdled.
I have used a strainer to remove the lumps.
I rail against toaster ovens and TV’s and VCR’s
that turn themselves on in the middle of the night.
I am a barnacle on the gathering storm clouds—
a tornado myth that once was true.
I am a born-again druid
with credit cards and unpaid traffic tickets.
I collect the carcasses of dead animals—
my testament to our encroachment on the world.
I toured the country with the exhibit,
my own travelling museum of roadkill—
‘til the smell of rotting flesh got to me.
I now watch rare fish on the Internet.
by David Clink
from: Come-on from the Horse on 7th Avenue, ©2002
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