Poem: Breakfast

Do as vultures do, don't skip it.

Breakfast      

Morning

outside Belgrade,

three pitch-black vultures

hunch over a deer carcass a dozen feet off the road,

burying their beaks in the dark red buffet of 

a rib cage lying in the dying snow.

A trucker blasts by going the

opposite way and doesn’t

turn his head one

degree to see.

No doubt,   

he’s had

breakfast

already.

Don’t

skip

it.