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I Cannot be Trapped Under Dirt and Leaves by Mullen Metcalf

Do not
drive over my fingers with
dirt on your shoes.
At least wipe your feet first,
or dig out the old grimy slippers from the
back pocket of your winter coat.

You are a deer carcass,
left for rot on the side of I-95
bubbling and popping and sizzling.

(You are nothing to me)

But you are the red-hot belly of the deer,
fur hard like grass,
grass hard like fur, and

I burn up inside.
I am an iron left face-down
on a silky blue tie, and

grilled cheese
in the garbage served hot, and
well done with a garnish
of char and ash, and dust too.

(Get out of my way)

I am a grease fire and you cover me with water
instead of cloth.

 

Photo by Shelby Deeter on Unsplash