road kill

how many vultures are there now.
they are thick
in the sky,
floating in their strange
slow way, circling
the death that lies
along the highway. they are
bunched up at the side of the road
like judges in black
robes and dark eyes.
hunched in quiet
deliberation, yellowed
claws flecked with
yesterdays meal of blood
and gore. how many vultures are
there.
plenty it seems, enough
to go around.
enough for you and me.