Pterodactyls at Work

It was an era of strange hope. Back-broken, blistered,
we the bleary-eyed destroyed our habitats
before the sky's burden filled and finished us.
News came by wing we were to take teeth
to what beaks could not break. For if trace
of our tenure must be left, it was only right
we should arrange our departing manner.
And with this thankful labor I found purpose
while some, encouraged by the idea of discovering
a permanent place in the earth, surrendered themselves
to tar pits. Others sought out cliffs, stood single file
at a canyon's crescent lip, and stepped forward.
But the rest continued, until the new sun set
the land aflame, and we found ourselves skulls
smoldering in a valley of skulls, the day
of our undoing done, and the earth ever turning.

Copyright © 2008 Adam O. Davis All rights reserved
from Raritan
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission