deer

A dead deer on the roadside

Exposed in shades of red

Those glowing eyes

Blue angels

They know it well

Let it come

Organs clutter the backroads

Winding American infrastructure

Buried beneath severed parts

A shattered windshield

Four stained truck tires

Maybe a dent or two

Those are the funerary rights

Of the deer

And we,

So familiar with the flesh

Are unnerved by the body