Drunken Roadkill

I wish I would have been there when they shoved that fist down your throat. Was He the one with the bloodied hand? I can’t imagine Him being so brave… And that town sure likes to talk. With every last gossip grape bursting, you must have been drunk with their hyperbole. So you ran in crisscross lines to escape them.

Maybe by now you just expect to get run over. Did you press hand to forehead, shading your eyes to see it coming down the right side? Did you see it limping, spare tire attached where the weakest tire had blew out a few miles back? Was it fast, bright yellow, missing the muffler? Or was it quiet and black with the lights turned off? Regardless, I wish I could have been there to push you out of the way.

Are you still that little girl on the side of the road where your parents let you out for the first time? When they said they’d come back but never did? They left you with a name you keep bundled beneath your feet so you can know what it feels like when they walk all over you. You don’t use that name anymore; no one can pronounce it.

The new people who pick you up each give you a different name: daughter, sister, best friend, fiancé. Then let you back out again: stepdaughter, half-sister, ex-best friend, ex-fiancé. You have no love. You left it hit-and-run gutted, cut in half by tire tracks along the side of the road. You know you can’t hitch hike with love. It’s like trying to catch a ride with a wet dog.

Oh, collector of names and faces, you’ve been a vagabond since your fetal body hit fresh pavement; looking for a place to hang your hat and heart. Will you ever find home? You’re home is this road. You walk tall down the center line, leaving a trail of heart blood behind you. Not so you can find your way back, but so someone will know you were there once.

Grace Note: Might fix up the beginning. Doubt it though. So I thought I'd just go ahead and post it.