Mother and Child
Slunked – almost cursed
being its low artfulness
among suburban yards
and spade-ruled beds –
brushing its rusted pelt
and curling as if a stole
fixed around that fat neck
of some awful woman
There was a dead cub –
clubbed and bloodied
by a car – or a truck –
on that stretch of road
from Lewes to Glynde –
Still intact – but still dead
as rushed traffic passed
without crushing it – yet