Wednesday on Highway 7
The raccoon is at the bottom of the red ocean,
lying flat, lying dead on Highway Seven.
Today he lay down for me.
Cranky, fishy, strip bars swing by violently.
The raccoon sat up on two legs
in the back right seat,
and I winked at him,
but all the other drivers flattened him.
I looked anxiously for a stop light,
a resting spot.
Death, Depression, Highway, Idealism, Isolation, Poems, Poetry, Seeking God, Traffic light
This entry was posted on November 24, 2011, 9:18 pm and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0.
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#1 by Indigo Spider on November 25, 2011 - 10:38 am
Oh my this bothers me, poor raccoon. I hit a raccoon once, darted out suddenly while I was on an unfamiliar road, and I still feel guilty years later. The one I hit walked off into the trees and I looked to see if he was OK, but he was gone, so I hope he was fine. It was the one and only animal I’ve ever hit and I hope it stays that way — it truly wracked my nerves.
#2 by Carl on November 26, 2011 - 9:29 am
I’ll bet he was fine but he’s still scared!