A flattened rooster
a fork in the road…

A fork in the road— It’s not dead
says the sister;
those flies

are cleaning him
like he’s

bathing.
The brother

doesn’t believe her.
If he could

only reach out
with his

three-
pronged stick…

Now it’s my turn
to speak

picked clean
on the flattened

road. Something
out of the past

occurs to me.
I let it pass.