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Armadillo


We see an armadillo
lying dirty in its armor
on the road after
a dinner party.

He is so beautiful,
so out of place,
lying under the lights.
A large scaly innocent
with poor vision,
once dug blindly
with sharp claws
for grubs, beetles,
worms.

Bloody and still,
the tough scaly body,
so quiet.

We give him a funeral,
a plastic bag.
Burn it at a pyre.

Provide the wind.
Lift its tail, God.