Dead Deer on the Curb of Route 30

You saw the highway
And you thought that you might run it.

The cars would swerve and jackknife
As you leapt safely toward adjacent trees.

But, whether it was your reflexes that failed you
Or the sheer weight behind the semi’s speed

The tires cracked through bone like egg
And knocked you lifeless on your side.

Now, with copious last thoughts
The world will pass you by.

As commuters turn their heads
You remember being beautiful.

Running through the fields, past yards
And over rolling hills…

Stealing apples as the
Children pointed, gasped in awe…

Days on grass instead of stone;
Nights with breeze and not exhaust…

        Someone’s loading you inside a pickup
And slicing through your gut.