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Rush Hour

Ahead, in rain, the morning surges
With brake lights on the dual carriageway;
Around a slight curve traffic crushes
Yellow blinking to the outside lane.

A fawn stands in the road
Pristine with a natural beauty
Perfect, save for broken leg,
shivering at the inevitability of its life
Leaving passing scars of sadness.

On the journey home,
Queued traffic crawls on past the spot
And those who wondered sadly
Seek the confirmation of a corpse.
Patrick Ladbrooke
Monday, November 17, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: death
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
As witnessed.
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