The Way

Roads are unfair. They eat death.
Yours, deer, whatever passes.
If you find yourself sitting
At a roadside, stay quiet.
Time feels richer if we stay

Quiet. You will be witness
To the nature of the world,
Boring, fine, and horrible,
If you stay by the wayside
Long enough. Mostly, you’ll find,

The world is boring and fine.
The horrific takes a while,
But a road guarantees it,
Given enough time—a wreck,
A roadkill, a pointless crime

Can make the quietest road
Briefly a vortex of blood.
And that’s the thing about roads.
If they’re usually quiet,
They’ll become quiet again,

Artificial summaries
Of the universe that birthed
Our species inventing them.
It’s quiet here this evening.
Been quiet for years and years.