Do notdrive over my fingers withdirt on your shoes.At least wipe your feet first,or dig out the old grimy slippers from theback pocket of your winter coat. You are a deer carcass,left for rot on the side of I-95bubbling and popping and sizzling.(You are nothing to me)But you are the red-hot belly of the deer,fur hard like grass,grass hard like fur, andI burn up inside.I am an iron left face-downon a silky blue tie, andgrilled cheesein the garbage served hot, andwell done with a garnishof char and ash, and dust too.(Get out of my way)I am a grease fire and you cover me with waterinstead of cloth. Photo by Shelby Deeter on Unsplash