Shanda Hansma Blue Revision That dead beagle lying in the gravel beside the railroad crossing as my car tops the rise over the tracks distracts me from the sign I see each morning on the way to a job where I am no more secure than any other woman who sells her time.  It says TRAINS DON’T WHISTLE in concert with the anti-noise ordinance in Elkhart, Indiana where we don’t want to frighten the horses pulling Amish buggies but I don’t see it today because I look at the dog and wish for crows, buzzards, remember domesticity.  I want that carcass to be recycled immediately by carrion eaters in the Buddhist way, not the way we recycle cans and bottles, paper and plastic.  Not dead stuff into more dead stuff but the way flesh feeds flesh, the living eat the recently live to keep life in themselves.  Remember domesticity, an elderly couple caught at the other side of the crossing, unable to see what I see, waits for the train to pass and revises their search for their dog.