I was sitting under the bridge that ran over the creek.
A bag flew over my head
and splashed in the water.
I heard squeaks from the burlap bag.
I ran into the water,pulled it out,
and took it to the bank to open it.
Out spilled a bunch of wet little creatures,
helpless and tiny and clinging to each other.
I read in the paper later that week
that a man was killed when a burlap bag blew up from his rusty floorboards and tangled in his feet when he tried to brake for a curve on 101.
His old pickup went straight through the rail into the ice cold lake.
Six orange kittens sit on the sill of the front window,
licking their paws after their meal.
They seemed to know about the story in the paper.