Elegy for a Squirrel

Is it a waste
to think about
the squirrel
I just
ran over?

The front tire
missed,
but not the back.
Trees and dirt
on one side,
darting squirrel
on the other.

Somewhere
there is a stash
of nuts
and various
other findings
that may,
or may not,
sit there forever,
untouched.

No little tears
will moisten
the cheeks
of the squirrel
I squished.
No little paws
will bear
the squirrel’s body
to a hole
in the ground
where it may rest
in peace.

No.
Instead, sharp claws
and pointed beaks
will tear and rip
until no traces remain.