Trailer-trucks’ grails are sent
for pent-up sales intent.
Rolling down roads, some bent,
vetted by a gent grub-bent.

He’s a chow-down-on-slain-food dude;
dine-in worm made of his brain, food.
Guy just grabs croaked meat for roast treat—
kill on the road.

Back in his van have lain
animals that were slammed, slain.
Stores ’em in stove; he moves
to stew ’em…first removes hooves.

Guy coaxed cold pony from tarred ground…
flattened, sad, once proud and round.
He’s got pans for heating cold meat,
chilled on the road.

Guy totes venery: heavy deer by clenching that game,
mauled from quick killin’ by mall truck…spared pain.
[or]
Guy totes venery: heavy deer by wrenching that game
off the bitumen for want of spare crane.
He sets on a ram downed; its net’s twenty pounds.
He vets a hock, a dead hawk and roasts ’em toast-brown.

His thing’s wasted animals rent
by crates that shan’t relent.
Waits with intense intent,
the gent whose head trends think-bent.

As he zooms ’round, lookin’ for doomed
wild critters that ain’t been inhumed,
he grabs asphalt-treated goat meat
still on the road.

Craves wasted game, this gent
ruminations tend bent.
From roads croaked food he wrests.
Placed snuffed bear in Park for jest.
Brain’s lunch for a gray [matter]-munch pest.