a poem in April

At the Border

There were dozens 

of them

in varying degrees 

of decomposition,

some

dry and flattened,

others

still surprisingly 

plump,

though all of them

stalled, 

stopped—

their blind, 

tubelike bodies

motionless

on the glistening 

macadam.

What primordial urge

led them to wriggle 

and pull upwards?

Was it a need for air?

For warmth?

Was it an escape,

a search for a life

cushioned

within the greener 

grass 

on the other side?

Or was it simply

a migrant's dream—

a longing to celebrate

the silvery slip

of the first spring rain?

Poor boneless creatures

lying on your bellies!

Nature betrayed you,

left you lying here,

unwanted, 

degraded, embedded 

in the harsh tar

of a brutal new world.