Don’t Look

By Kaitlynn McShea

Don’t look
at the dead animals on 
the crumbling concrete. 
They rest in between the blackened road and the untamed grass. 

We’re not meant to witness this. 

You will turn up the radio 
and stare straight ahead, 
knuckles white on 
the steering wheel. 
And you will see a gaping maw out of the corners of your eyes, 
Reminding you of things:

Your mother’s lined face while she naps on the couch,
Your husband’s mouth in bed last night,
Your eyes when you looked in the mirror that morning. 

Witnesses that are diced into moments and left for crumbs the rest of the time. 

Don’t look. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s