Road Kill

It Was Saturday Morning

Eastern Washington Waste Land — Photo by Jonathan Potter ⓒ 2024

It was Saturday morning, 
     the end of September, and I
Had my hands on the wheel and my mind 
     on the words that I felt
Coming at me: coyote 
     and carrion crows. And the sky
After sunrise had shone its great light
     on the blood and the pelt
Of some creature who'd met with some car
     on that long stretch of road.
The coyote inspecting, bewildered, 
     looked over at me
As I made my approach as a human
     transmitting my code
And attempting to fathom the scene
     and assess could it be ...
Were the bones and the fur
     and the blood that was spilled
The remains of a second coyote?
     The blood was so vast
On that road where this creature 
     was run down — I wondered who'd killed
It, what human with what
     kind of shadowy future and past
Zeroed in, a trajectory, savagery,
     metal and bone
And the way of the world
     when you drive through it lost and alone.

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