I catch sight of a rust-hued heap,
small, furred blur on the shoulder.

No run-of-the-mill roadkill,
it makes my gut churn, head turn,

eyes track back until they alight
on the white spots of a stricken fawn.

Nature’s dapples, camouflage
for the young, never fathomed

danger shaped like a speeding car.
I say, I wish I hadn’t seen that,

but I don’t believe me. It hurts
to look, but someone should

notice this gentle waste
of a pretty face, long-lashed

eyelids like windows
shuttered for eternal sleep,

her one shy crime to wander
greenly, happen by mistake

upon this harsh, fast place
we paved in the name of progress.