Roadkill
He hears again
the far-off jiggling of keys,
the throaty cough of ignition,
recalls strafing lights
on a night-blurred road.
Moths, like pale flowers,
crash against the windscreen.
Over-reaching branches
whip back and forth, warping
a transfixed retina.
A gritty sleet, then,
the bloodied head, the matted fur,
the flaying shanks;
a frozen shock laid bare.
Returning to the garage,
warm metal ticks,
he stares at a dark windscreen,
the dead
spread across his mind
still looking for a way out.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment