Does blood smell like burnt rubber to you?
Now nothing but a stain on the highway.
The windshield cracked like a finely cut crystal,
it was glass that opened the animal’s sorry neck.
Is that why you flinch at the sight of tomatoes
in our September garden, rotting while
beetles make lacework of the leaves,
do they remind you of flesh bursting at the seams?
Do you remember being scared drunk and praying
that the deer was an angel or hallucination?
While steam rose from the broken bodies
of your vehicle and the animal like incense to God.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 11:35 AM UTC
Does blood smell like burnt rubber to you?
Now nothing but a stain on the highway.
The windshield cracked like a finely cut crystal,
it was glass that opened the animal’s sorry neck.
Is that why you flinch at the sight of tomatoes
in our September garden, rotting while
beetles make lacework of the leaves,
do they remind you of flesh bursting at the seams?
Do you remember being scared drunk and praying
that the deer was an angel or hallucination?
While steam rose from the broken bodies
of your vehicle and the animal like incense to God.
This poem is being published in Sundress Publications' "Stirring: a Literary Collection". It's pretty old and not really my style anymore, but I thought I'd include it here.
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