Roadkill

it’s fresh when I pass it by

guts glistening in the dim headlights,

a red smear of viscera across the dewy morning concrete.

as I try and fail to not let my eyes linger,

i wonder if,

like me,

you had a destination in mind.

i see you from around the bend,

misshapen lump of fur.

i know what awaits is not how you would like to be remembered,

and so i look for your face in that split second as i pass.

i never see it amongst the mess of yourself,

and i am glad.

you are wasted on this asphalt,

and you’ll stain it until rain forgives what rubber couldn’t.

they won’t put flowers on guardrails for you,

you’re nothing special,

just a swerve over double lines like any other pothole.

they won’t mourn the spill of your innards,

or take solace in the swiftness of your passing.

You will leave nothing behind

In that way, we are not dissimilar.

By Caspian Boyton

*This was originally published in the ‘Tertangala: Horror Issue’ (2023)

Image Credit: Pawan Thapa on Unsplash