Road Kill

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a dead man sat on the side of the street.
he sat like a run-over possum, a crushed raccoon,
like the ripped carcass of a squirrel.
thus, he was not much sitting as he was leaning
on the ground. he looked like a fetus
with a beard and yellowed teeth and his dirty
arms clutched around the precious cargo
of his legs. maybe he was homeless because
he wore a heavy, woolen, checkered black and red
jacket, drawn over like a hellish chessboard
with all its pieces missing. shielding himself
from the blazing summer sun, he had his eyes
closed as a trickle of something dark
dribbled like sweat down his forehead
and onto the dark jacket. around him, the cars swerved
like fat, buzzing flies, glowing eyes bulging and reflecting
the afternoon pallor. their satisfied rumbles,
tires flipping up glittering pieces of concrete in their
complacent rush, showered the dead man, delivering
eulogy after depressing eulogy.





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