the spoils of the road

 

 Outside Humbird there is a discarded deer, torn and twisted
an unlikely leathery knot by the side of the road.
It's been picked on, fought over, claimed by dark sky circles

there are times you get the why of a messy heap of hide

that awesome simplicity, a clean state, metaphysical nonbeing
ignored, unseen
so similar to a headstone nightmare in Camden, Maine

that one reads: unwanted baby down, found by the reservoir,
since gone, stuck in a file nowhere, really, now a curiosity of what once stunned, leaving a stain in everyone, bar none

to be seen
to be aware

of the gaze
of eyes fixed

We truck on over the road - above all high on up -
watching younger people passionately performing
hand gymnastics with the wifi device of their choice

one more rare redhead, zipping by in a '50s flatbed
hauling mangled compact cars crushed into cubes
a peek of stark skin art, a stretched arm with numbers, an equation even

an older couple in simmering silence since Nebraska
he rides shotgun, magnifying glass in hand, dog-eared gazetteer

Perchance a slight turn, a momentary lapse of acknowledgment,
but more like a sleight of face, always a kid begging for the horn
regardless of the storied face, living the imaginary space we hope for

ourselves

reckon the road is reluctant
the agony of missed ramps, myriad unread signs
every fork in doubt, every longing spent

watching the girl trapped, in an old woman's body
in a fast food job, her lunch a lit cigarette, another for dessert

then a stranded house, collapsed foundations deep in a grove
a glittering willow tendrils swaying near a weeping pond

the road and the rearview
seem to share whatever's left

behind