The Big Dead
A dead deer looks a lot like a dead human being.
Unlike a fat row of brown raked leaves or mottled
rotten log, discovered, it engenders profound dismay.
This is the country. The U. S. of A. I live here.
I’m an old woman. (Cue the Dragnet theme.)
It was Monday. January sixteenth. Smell of
white Ivory soap, taste of mint toothpaste. I
was watching the day break out of the fog.
The visible world was all halo, the head of its saint
still under ground.There were no stars, headlights,
colors. Crows hadn’t broken the peace, yet. Far
at the end of the driveway under one conical, skeletal tree,
Death had laid out a corpse and left a human problem.
(Cue the Dragnet theme.) What to do with the body?