RoadKill
by Russ Cope
It's a rain-swishing kind
of day when I am stopped
at the red light.
The truck in front of me
is loaded down with branches,
leaves, wooden flats.
A bit of what looks like
foliage sits still at the side
of the road.
The passenger hops out, gives
it a tap of the foot to avoid
teeth, and then hoists it in
the air.
It is like a stiff, glued carpet
and he plops it in the back,
pulling away,
leaving me thinking about life.
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