you never see roadkill from the backseat
but if you do, it’s only for a second
the no longer animated, should’ve been cremated, pretzeled little fur ball
whizzes by your backseat window
just a blur
you probably didn’t even notice her
too busy glancing blankly at the players of the day:
a college couple laughing
a figure sleeping under an island of clothes
a pair of sneakers laced over a telephone line
a kid walking home from school
a man playing his trumpet
a naked tree
children playing “ring around the rosie”
you didn’t know what the song meant back then:
falling over belly up while london bodies were swelling up
maybe you weren’t even looking out the window
too busy lowering a brow at your sister beside you
you watched her frolic in place, giggles erupting from her face
sticking sloppy goo boogers on the backside of the passenger seat
using it as a canvas for her lumpy olive and lime tribute to pollock
while up in the front, your mom was oblivious
dealing with a life that was all too serious
trying not to look directly at the roadkill:
a dog whose stomach had burst, basking in the sun
a cat who persistently got pulverized and more tender with every tire,
slowly recembling one of those meat patties daddy used to slap on the grill
mom just realized dad wasn’t all that in love with her, just her beauty routine
and that he decided to propose to her somewhere between a rough wank and a fat shit
she kept all of this from you, naturally
traveling you around the world safely
as if you were still warm and secure in her belly
but in your later years, you no longer needed her
you could now travel anywhere at sheer will
the only problem was catching glimpses of all the roadkill:
the only time spent in the backseat was when you were wet kissing your first girlfriend
on the way to your first date, a squirrel hurled itself in front of your wheels
you squeezed the steering wheel and tried your best to avoid the kill
but after a thump and a squeal, the crows were ready for their next meal
you were haunted by this the rest of the day
lost in thoughts of the poor creature expanding and flattening under your weight,
you told your date about the tragedy, thinking she could give you some relief, maybe
but her only response was, “wow, that’s crazy.”
not long later, while speeding through the long and winding roads at night,
booming some bad song
a sharp left turn saw a golden retriever flash on scene
materializing just as fast as a camera flash through your windscreen
and then disappearing just as fast with a scream
the creature jolted in the air and then took off into the woods
you slammed on your brakes and then stared at where it was
unsure if you touched him with your hood or just imagined the whole thing
you drove home and tried to play some video games
but every pixel on the screen couldn’t make you forget what you had seen
you couldn’t stop imagining the retriever retreating into the woods:
falling over from all the bleeding
squeezing his ripped-up torso with every inhale
releasing more blood with every exhale
marble pupils widening after that last release
you told yourself it was all a fiction
you were sure you hadn’t hit him
pretty sure
but you couldn’t stop thinking about it
you wished you could forget it
seeing how being the driver of your life is no job for the weak
you wished for a moment that your mind would take a backseat
pushing all your thoughts away
so you could casually watch the players of the day:
a yellow-haired fellow barking at a girl through his window
a creature’s turd
a well-done dead bird, burning like wood
a farting trashbag
children playing “holy fuck!
what’s this bump?
i need sleep!
now a lump!?
from a flea?
now a fever!
sleep forever.”
silently judging and admiring them
living the luxury of not being one of them