Roadkill

Aww-www, no—is it what I think it is?

We were caught in a line of traffic,

going home; looking ahead in the near distance

I took note of the cream-colored shape, a

furry body lying in the right hand lane of the turnpike—

I thought to myself that it looked just like the soft

belly of a yellow tabby, sprawled and dead.

Cars avoided it—

pulling off onto the shoulder to go around it.

I thought this must be, only because I

knew the blue house over there had

cats that lingered in the driveway—

often crouching in front of the garage,

watching the traffic go by—or

staring one another down—

ready to fight or fuck. Who knows what they’re up to,

slinking around like shadows—

slipping under the gap of the garage door.

I never saw one of them go near the road,

as if they knew the danger—

the wee kittens taught by their mamma to

BEWARE—

Ah, but thankfully no, this was not the case—

when we drew up near to it,

from the left lane I saw that it was

(to my relief),

a dead bathmat.

“Shit, someone killed a bathmat—

I hate when that happens.”

It was the perfect end of a crappy day,

we were on the way home

where I felt safe.

Roadkill, 12/22/2013 LJWR (also known as The Dead Bathmat)

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