My friend’s mother just died
and I just saw two dead deer
on the side of road, tipped
over like they were resting
in the circuits of flying hooves,
the keratin grooves that slip
on asphalt. Our dead mothers
all wait on the side of the road
to wave a white flag as we pass
by, dragging us home where we
surrender to the inevitable, what-
ever your definition of evitable
may be, flying hooves, our dead
mothers on the side of the road
waving their white tails in surrender
as we speed by, sprawling tales of
the tires, and there’s only a little bit
of blood near the skull, spotting the
scraggly grass on the side of the road that
they bent over in endless rumination. And
then today I saw this buck, though when
I squinted I wasn’t sure, couldn’t see
the possible sunlit antlers, and it bounded
away like I was blaming it for something,
but I’m not sure exactly what.
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