Going to Work

 Going to Work

This one morning

autumn crisp, the light

barely breaking, and leaves

the color of a riot circus,

ostentatious, blaring,

announcing themselves. Then

 

a car in front of me slows, swerves

and another . . .

I see the deer in the roadway

doing a GI crawl across traffic,

its hind legs dragging, its eyes

focused on the other side,

mouth grim and set.

And, who am I on the spectrum:

a little less or more than an animal

to the passing motorist, a cyclist

pausing in the lane, straddling her bike

holding out both arms to slow or stop

oncoming vehicles, waiting

for the injured deer to make it

to the grassy berm. To paradise.

 

After a matter of minutes, I continue,

my morning clouded with this image

of struggle, life and death, desire

to survive.