Roadkiller (thanks for the challenge, Cork)

A pal and I once drove from here,
clear across to over there,
sea-to-shining-sea, as it were.
This was in the seventies;
a long time ago from the Aught-Single-Digits thence.

To this day we both recall
the carnage of the Poconos:
ten dead deer littering the highway,
in a space of but a few miles.

In the darkness of November Saturday,
returning from a mild domestic errand,
peaceful in the warm evening air,
enjoying the pastoral environs I've chosen
intentionally, to enjoy these many years
part of the bucolic scenery leapt alive
across the picturesque wall and
into the two-lane-blacktop inches
from my unstoppable bumper.
The blur became a faun,
the faun became roadkill,
and I a roadkiller.

And it's still the same
woods-cradled two lane blacktop
and my bumper's trash
but the car will soldier on
(and my insurance company will pay
all but $100 to get it fixed).
But the little deer is dead,
and I'm not quite as comfortable as I was.
Which might be good.
I don't really know.

Copyright D. Quarrell 2009

Well, yet another segment in the busted dryer saga

so I took a couple of loads to the laundramat, couple towns to the south, 15 or 20 minute drive. Loaded up the big commercial dryer, popped the plastic token card in, set it off for 45 minutes, yatta yatta. Forty-five minutes later pulled out the fluffy-dries, loaded them back into the car and headed north. Just south of Atkinson (NH) center there's a lovely early-19th century house with humongous barn attached, that looks down onto NH Rte 121, and across it to a lovely meadow, once populated by grazing ungulants and other herbivores back in the days of our agrarian past. This big meadow (east of the two-lane blacktop that is Main St Atkinson, Stage Road and Main Street Hampstead, and up into Chester and Auburn, etc.) slopes down away from the right-of-way, and is separated from it by one of our ubiquitous stone walls. There are woods surrounding the meadow. It is an ideal place for wildlife to hang out - especially at night. So there I am headed north with me clean laundry, doing the speed limit (35, I make it a point, often just to piss of the guys behind me who want to do 50) and I see out of the corner of my eye, a greyish brown blur, and it hops the stone wall and is off my right front fender as I slam the brake pedal but it's not enough and not soon enough and the faun took the full impact of the front of the Highlander in the process of slowing down. He sort of bounced off my bumper, then managed to drag himself (or herself, I don't really know) into the path of a southbound Taurus wagon.

The deer's dead, I called 911 and waited, waving southbound traffic off to prevent the poor critter from becoming bloody pulp, it was entitled to that much dignity. I guess it was a good thing too for the safety of the southbound drivers, but some of them were driving like assholes and didn't deserve the courtesy. The local cop came, took my details, commiserated ("I hate this shift at this time of year, there's so much of this. They're pretty to look at but a danger.") and told me I was good to go. I'm fine, the front bumper of the Highlander is a disaster but it did its job nobly and that's why we have insurance. I won't lose any sleep over the poor critter, but I feel badly and I wish it hadn't happened.