Afterthoughts of a kangaroo
They warned me not to cross the street at night.
They said it was too dangerous.
Thousands of us are brutally killed.
Run over by those monsters.
The monsters with the bright eyes.
Some are smaller, others are very big.
And those monsters are loud, too.
Now they got me too. I’m dead.
Left here on the side of the road to be picked clean by those vultures, those crows and eagles.
I have seen many of us like this.
Not for us.
They say we’re a pest.
It doesn’t matter if we are run over.
To us it matters.
Who builds these roads that go through our habitat?
Nobody has asked us.
But what can we do?
We are just those brown-coated jumping creatures that nobody gives a damn about here.
At least not when we are on the side of a road.
Dead or alive.