I killed it
 
It lost focus - 
excited, or old.
Either way, death smacks hard.
 
Its guts, red tangled in fur
hit twice
front and back wheels 
both.
 
The sun is brilliant
swallowing up the morning commute.
 
It is cold.
 
If I had stopped -
hovered my hands above its entrails
it would have warmed me, exhaling 
itself over the road.

 


 
-- ​ [First appeared in Soundings East]