R-R-Ralph

He wanders round the outskirts
with a dustpan and a sack
scooping pavement pancakes
to sling across his back

He scrapes up cats and rabbits
and dogs and squirrels and such
the locals think he's crazy
but don't think of him much

Those who've tried to greet him
know his answer is the same
no matter what the question
"R-R-Ralph is my name"

The children laugh about him
with jokes of roadkill stew
but what he does with dead things
they haven't got a clue

He trudges round the greenbelt
till he finds the perfect spot
some days it is easy
and some days it is not

He digs a hole the perfect size
and gently lays them there
and as he covers them with earth
he mumbles a soft prayer

For the wild ones are his mission
tho' they may die alone
he's promised he will find them
and always bring them home

c. 8/19/09, B. Riley