Dear Armadillo

Dear Armadillo, 

You’re a long way from

that Texas heat

lying lonely

lying dead 

lying in the street

Nine banded and 

Goodyear branded

into pavement under

the wealthy man’s feet.

You never did make it

to his door.

You’ll never be able

to ask him what

you were here for.

Who moved you

into the city?

Who fenced off

your home?

To drill in your

ground and

fill tanks with oil?

Who silenced 

your song?

Who cut your

tail short?

Would you have

lived another day?

Would you still

be dead in the dirt?

I know your pain.

I know the trouble you’re in.

I know the road 

you’ve crossed.

I know the man who 

ran you over.

I know the man who

put you down.

Are we better off broken?

Are we better off dead?

Should we stop asking questions 

and start waiting for the lead?

I can’t wear your armor.

I can’t be in your skin.

I can lay on the road

beside you until

my body is made thin

from the tires

screeching over.

I’m stained by 

rubber tracks.

There was never a price on our heads,

but always a gun to our backs.