Saturday, March 20, 2010

Don't Move that Dead Deer

I can't stop thinking about a deer that died next to a bedroom window in a place I sometimes stay in California. The house is out in cow country, pretty remote. The old man's parents suggested that he move the deer away from the house, but I didn't want to touch it at all. The old man thought maybe we could "lasso" the deer and spent most of a rainy afternoon reading about it online, but. I can't think of any North American large mammals that eat dead things, so I didn't worry about the dead deer attracting anything dangerous to the house. I was hoping the vultures would've taken care of it, but they didn't seem to notice. I wonder if vultures didn't want to approach the house?



It looked like it curled up, went to sleep, and died. I feel so badly. Every morning, I walked over to the window before brushing my teeth or anything. I had to make sure it was still there.

3 comments:

Benjamin said...

Don't Move That Dead Deer

A deer came and died by the brick
wall outside my bedroom window
in a place I sometimes stay in California.
I felt as though it had curled up in my
hand and passed through a keyhole
in the air. I kept returning to the window to see
if it had moved. I expected a very large cruise
ship to approach the deer with people
on its bow waving and drinking champagne
from slender flutes. Some of them were
holding hand painted signs I couldn't read.
I couldn't feel anything but a cello trembling
on its cliff. Everyday thereafter, I thought of nothing
but the deer. The way it must have chewed
on grass before disappearing into the mist.
The way the mist coated its body until it looked
like a small dark pocket full of words.
Soon the window disappeared and then
the wall and the passengers on the ship.
All that was left was a sign that read
Don't Move That Dead Deer.

steven karl said...

Pretty awesome poem, Ben!

Farrah Field said...

Great poem, Ben! Thank you!