On the way to work

The usual. Cows’ mouths suckle grass,
while a horse necks hay. From a distance,
they are so still, like a portrait of themselves.

Then, in the foggy dawn,
a fallen stop sign crumpled on the road
is a pool of blood.

Fresh tread marks
and the hulk of an elk barely
dragged off Highway 101
seem a mystery solved

on the face of the doe
tapping unflappably across the road
with a look I interpret as disdain,
or possibly resignation,

but surely it is not too much of a stretch to say disregard
for those of us speeding by
her mate’s gravesite.



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2 Responses to On the way to work

  1. mark says:

    How perfect. Thanks for letting me see and feel this through these words, it’s great to receive what’s here.

  2. redmitten says:

    i feel like if i say anything about why this poem found its way all the way through me i will mar the experience. so with that said, hush.


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