Exactly What We Deserve // Roadkill

Exactly What We Deserve

Written by Vinnie Crow

Slow-creeping tentacles, all dark smoke and oily ink,

Sulfur-smelling past noon and rot into night, such a scent, that stink

Of crust and mold, distinct from gore of Earth, from mulch and salty sea

Has nothing on that sweet mirrored moon, craning craters, folding delicately

Once and twice and then again,

Each ripple smooth, like satin, snaking slack around the bend,

A land of ghosts, a hoard of bones, belonging once and twice to men

Waterworld at long last! A simmering story, one of yesteryear’s prediction

When still there lie a chance, small and gleaming, for a fix to such affliction,

With pupils wide, confession rumbling low against the sky,

Where breath stayed bated, astounded and insatiated, not but a sigh

From tumbling wind, gossiping flora silent, now, amidst the mountain range,

Creatures crashing through each other, a desperate attempt to escape such an exchange;

That endless, churning, pit of war... How strange,

Each carcass strewn across the floor, pressing closer, always feeding, must consume,

Cracking open Gaia’s skin, filling deserts with wreckage, smearing ash upon her womb

Lushlands blue and green, fickle filly of a flame burning hot, licking red,

Sick, orange and spreading, sloughing scraps, sweating bullets through the head,

Sacrifice in masses, slick, a species brewing chalices of violence

Overflowing, made to spill to open mouths kept penniless; a greater price for silence

And when remains have given way to waste,

Nothing left to devour, lips puckering and soured at the taste,

A breeze will stir, swirling slow, searching far and wide for the hint of a breath

And upon finding none gains permission to grow, turning restless and wild;

Borne anew after death

//

Roadkill

As I pass the mangled lump of flesh and fur that paints the lines on the road red

I say a quick and silent prayer–

Not to a god, nor for the salvation of a soul

But for a succeeding existence which is not so small as to be caught and crushed under the

rough-and-tumble tires

Of a machine made to take giants place to place and takes a life instead

Vinnie Crow is a twenty-year old nonbinary poet based in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Their work has appeared in the 2020 and 2021 editions of Iris: Art + Lit– the state and national award-winning art and literature magazine of St. Paul Academy and Summit School– and has been published by Eber & Wein Publishing. They write in hopes of stirring the soul and putting but a small part of the human experience into words. @vinniesapothecary on Instagram