Roadkill
By Lydia Breskin
There was a
Deer
A bodily shell, curled
Into a conch spiral
Its hooves
Curled inward
Kneeling
As if it had been
Tipped over, nudged
Gently, perhaps
By a wind
Some sort of
Volatile, metal creature
Had visited its corpse, however.
Because its blood
Was showing
In an embarrassed
Ejaculation
Across the road
This poem was originally printed in Manuscript, Carleton's literary magazine. Reprinted with permission from Manuscript and the author.