This poem was about a fish head

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.”

 

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