It growled, then the huge tires screeched and it was dyin’—
shoulda ducked before that truck hit it broadside.
If it lies out there it fries as out the blood drains;
under tracks of a big Mack is how it died.

(Warm dog and mustard, tater fries)

Elmer slogs out of the bogs; he’s in fine fettle;
dinner tonight won’t come from the local mart.
The food fare that tonight he will prepare
is pieces of meat not greasy.
He will have warm dog—that’s such a fine fress.
Though haute cuisine it ain’t, succulent is each part.

This lunkhead is lucky the mutt wasn’t too smart.

Macadam dog is something you can fry or bake. . .
get it before coyotes tear it apart.
Take it home while still warm, then use fry power
for a meal square. . .enough to share.
Pray, give thanks for this fare sent from heaven;
before that, make dissecting an animal art.

Elmer was lucky that sunlight still had some spark—
It’s much harder to extract roadkill in the dark.
He thanks the lord that the Mack truck had hit its mark.
The cur’s fierce bite was always much worse than its bark.
As Elmer bites, he thinks, “Better than flattened lark!”