I was writing a poem
about a fish head
I saw on the way to work.
Then I saw a dead bird.
Suddenly, I was writing a poem
about the severed head of a fish
and the sad death of a baby finch.
As I was piecing the new poem together,
I passed the body of a dead squirrel
and later I saw the mutilated remains of a pigeon.
My poem was beginning to fill up with animals
and none of them were alive.
It reminded of something funny my friend said once.
We were passing by a cemetery and he said,
“You know how many of those people are dead?”
I shook my head.
“All of them.”