Remember those nights where the air was heavy enough to bellow not breeze? Those nights thick enough to keep the taste of cigarettes on our lips, our teeth, our cheeks, and boy, did we breathe deep.
The road is narrow. The road, it curves, sometimes sharply. It goes up. It goes down.
And the car floats mindless of the footprint it leaves- touches and rolls, taking small pebbles in its tread to ogle later of places been. Takes seashells, takes petals, takes rocks, and dirt. Takes the hair interlaced in sweaters, wound and wiggled into the fibers that be. Then, you see, when it gets dark, it’ll have pieces of places past to keep it warm.
Heated nights with its opaque air and its sparkly flairs, we’re not looking at what’s illuminated in headlights or at what walks the yellow line with us, slower.
Without thought, without brakes, it’s there suddenly ribs askew, and paws at awkward angles- like a restaurant receipt signature scribble. You see this animal (and that’s what it is) pumping its own blood onto the concrete through ruptured veins, arteries, capillaries, and whatever other tubes that carry us through. It probably would have picked up its head had its vertebrae not been shattered. It probably would have said sorry if pieces of its voice box were not scattered.
Metaphorical red light.
Now, think, think damn it! What do you do? Do you sit in humbled agasp? Do you curse? Do you apologize for circumstance? Because really it wasn’t your fault. You can’t predict the future. You can’t help it if that dog met your car. Had it not bolted out… Had it not stopped to look into your headlights… This is not what you wanted. You’re going places, and I just wanted to enjoy the view.