Morning vultures

Things you see on the daily commute. A poem

Commuters snake through Middletown
chopped into segments: green, yellow, red,
coast to stop, start to coast,
flicking signals, taking turns.

A gang of vultures circles a roadside deer
the boss bird stands on the torso,
pecks the hide, says to his chums,
“I’m top of the heap, A-number one!”