The side of this road must be lined
With bones
Like the twisted wooden fence posts
On Holland Road past the blinking light -
There are two dead deer a mile apart
That look like they were hit the same day.
Hundreds of deer have laid dead like that -
And then there are the raccoons,
possums, squirrels, chipmunks, birds, skunks... should
I go on?
On I go down the bone-lined road
Stopping short of mentioning dogs and cats
And wondering whether any human bones lie,
Unnoticed, in the tall weeds.
I drive here every day and would prefer
Not to think of empty eye-sockets,
Shattered rib cages and the last breath
Of an animal slain by a driver
Who may not have cared -
I drive here every day
And I feel more camaraderie with those two dead deer
Than I do with the people who live
In the houses that I pass; I prefer
Not to wonder if that's okay.
I can imagine my own bones
Turning to crumbs inside my flesh
All from the loneliness of Turceda Highway -
I would save the biggest crumb for someone right.
The bones of my town aren't white,
They're chartreuse, like newspapers
That were left in the light and the damp
And allowed to grow a bit of slime. They're out of date,
And we are like an old woman
Who never uses a cane and sits still and dies
Instead.
I can imagine my own bones like the twisted
Wooden fence posts that remind me of a town
That I'd like to live in -
A town where there is something to connect to
Other than two dead deer a mile apart
That look like they were hit the same day.















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