Route 50

Chase the deer, the red-stained pavement, 

Chase the Ford F-150, white and black and silver, tires screech, 

and suddenly the concrete is scattered with glass stars and 

the car is upside down or maybe the world is 

and you think maybe you can see the moon 

or headlights 

or maybe it’s just the looming shadows of the sleeping oaks 

or the tumble, tumble, tumble down the hill off that rural road 

and maybe that deer, dead, decomposing 

on the side of the lonely highway was picked apart by the vultures 

before it even died and 

maybe you are that deer now, totaled and lying in a ditch, 

hair crusted to your scalp and hair defying the pull of gravity 

[or maybe complying with it, You still don’t know if you are upside down]

and there are birds, circling, or maybe that is a cloud 

and you feel trapped, you are trapped

warped metal digging into your palms, into your scalp, 

into your warm, pale skin and in the moonlight you think about

how beautiful it is, the stark contrast 

of the scarlet against the white of the metal 

[the white of your skin]

 the contrast of your mangled body 

against the ink-dark night sky, and 

maybe this is fine, 

maybe this is where you will die, in a ditch on the side of route 50,

and maybe that's a good thing:

joining the deer you passed by at mile marker 75

and the possum that met the grille of your truck not long ago 

and you have been here for hours, dangling from that front seat, 

[you have been here for 5 minutes]

you have been here for your whole life and the cars engine died 

not long ago [strange, you didn’t notice it went quite]

and your ears feel stuffed with cotton and your mouth is dry

and you realize that blood is dripping into your eyes

[you hadn’t realized how much you were bleeding]

and maybe you should try to move, try to reach for your phone 

and call for help, 

but the seat-belt is cutting sharply into your chest 

and the blood obscures your vision 

and the pull of the center of the earth 

[the pull of the fatigue calling for your muscles to release]

and thinking is getting harder and you stop trying to move now 

and something falls and suddenly the twisted body of the car 

is filled with static, 

then music and now you know it is the end, 

and you are okay with that, you had a good drive. 

The last sound that graces your ears before you become a 

dark empty pit:

Take me home, country roads

Take me home