Mess of fur and blood
stuck to the fender,
four hundred pounds
huddled against the guard-
rail in the highway,
red stomach
full of apples
from the garden.
The full moon drawing
the beast out in the rut,
his horns scraped against
the barrier-
died trying to escape.
The deer’s sable
eyes still watching
headlights.
Confined and tired.
Nerve twitch and hoof
kick.
Neck separately
completely
from spine.
Car smashed
coming home from a double shift.
Imprint stuck in the grill
as evidence,
one or both maimed.
Snap photos for insurance.
This would happen to me!
It could happen to anyone.
The next night, saw
in hand and hunter’s knife
extracting the horns,
peeling away the velvet.
It’s not enough to lacerate
and leave to stiffen,
after death
take a bit more.
Antlers line the den
from all the animals
chance concussions.
Hall of poached
trophies, the phallic
symbols never rot.
Crows pluck
at the eye sockets,
the wounded body
is seductive.
Pest control hauls
away the sinew,
throws it down the chute
into the incinerator.
Signs the papers later.
Smoke fills
the atmosphere
and the town
breathes in the wound.
The rattle of 42,000
snared hides
collect in the rain,
blur another driver’s
vision, shatters glass,
fashions
more roadkill.