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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 
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]

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