I’m crossing 150th and I don’t wanna look.
Somewhere around 121st I heard it hit,
A soft, scratchy thud that forced the overhead light to land in the seat next to me
Staring up with bare bulb asking “Whatthefuck?!”
It’s big, I can feel it,
And the feathers in the rearview mirror
Form a trail behind my weary Chevy,
Flaunting my misfortune in a plume of grandeur.
No one is staring, pointing.
“What is it?!” I want to scream at them.
“Will someone please help?!”
But I can’t bring myself to slow down,
Because maybe if I drive and drive
It will somehow just get up and fly away,
Taking with it the sizeable dent in my roof.
Images flash in my mind of a mighty feathered beast
Of Jurassic proportions,
A prehistoric rat still clutched in its talons, now pointing to the sky.
Or maybe a great eagle, fallen from a battle mid-flight,
Only to land smack on my roof
As the victor soared away into the glare of the sun.
What grand design has chosen this moment
To involve me and my ’86 sedan
As I drive back from the liquor store.
It’s dusty and hot and I’m cooking something big
As the tar pops under my tires.