the Paradise Hill Meat House

it’s paradise road for meat-eaters

ranches everywhere

beef, bison, even llamas

and tasty free-range bear

trophy buck, big ol’ moose

you gotta watch it, see?

’cause critters always gettin’ loose

and crossin’ Highway 3—

this stretch is bad junk

you could hit somethin’ and kill

a porcupine or stinky skunk

to pick out of your grill

 

but she likes that

she hopes you do

and she won’t have to pay

 

her oily feathers shine

in the asphalt heat of midday

the lunch is ready, time to dine

then traffic comes her way

so she flaps to the fence post

licks her beak ’til she can carry on

gopher, deer make rotting roast

and she loves the carrion

 

down the road from Paradise Hill

out on Highway 3

an American crow eats fresh road kill

quite ironically

in front of the Paradise Hill Meat House

and the Paradise Hill Meat House is closed

for the holiday

there is no meat for sale today

 

but the crow has got some

if you want some

just stop— you won’t have to pay

 

About troysherdahl

A blue-collar bohemian with a penchant for fine words and dirty jeans.
This entry was posted in poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s