five into seventy-two in poetry

the deer on Route Five
are trying to give their lives
to take out our cars late at night
as a political or religious statement
at this point
fucking deer

I’m not sure if they believe
we’ve come to take their salt licks
if our headlights are a beacon from deer heaven
if they’re just trying to ascend to Valhalla
on the grill of a Ford station wagon
it could go either way
this violence could be a radical act of defiance
or a misplaced sense of our own deification
but the bastards just want to get hit
they are trying to say something or do something
jumping out before us right as we’re coming
maybe if their reasons were clear
we could come to an understanding
fucking deer

but all they do is throw themselves
in front of cars at eleven or twelve
eyes glowing green in the moonlight
sometimes we’re lucky enough to notice
sometimes our brakes are good enough to stop
sometimes they’re not
fucking deer

did he believe he’d get seventy-two does in heaven?
did I just screw this up for him?
should I have accelerated instead?
this are the things that run through your head
when you’re shaking white knuckle completely spent
driving forty in a fifty-five all the way home that night
because
goddamn fucking deer
I stopped not two feet before him I swear
the green light in his eyes
looked like disappointment
I just wanted to drive
he just wanted to die
but I got my way that time

Last updated May 05, 2016