Picking through bones
the hounds settle in for a fine dine,
no fights or instinctual
bickering over menu:
carcass of calf, eyes
plucked by black vultures.
The mother’s bawl breaks
my quite vespers
with the injustice of this 
random dinner. In the dark sky
stars shine with emotionless light.
By dawn the dogs harass
the corpse under the fence
and my yard becomes a course
of rare veal. Cow, buzzards,
my night’s sleep – all denied
the chance to grieve.

                                    Jim Lally
                                     ( 6/2/15)