The Mustang

(ignore the *'s, it was the only way I could get that line break to look right)



When I finally got the man to pull the truck over,
there was already a long stripe of blood—
a new red-hot lane line slicing the freeway.
The bottom had fallen out of his horse trailer several miles back,
and, with a snap like an electric shock, the daydreaming mustang
was suddenly being dragged at 65.
*********************************The sandpaper ground
first through hoof, and then quickly through flesh.
362 horsepower against 1.

The beast's body swallowed by its eyes,
frantic, blitzed, boiling, thinking not of cause
or posterity; snorting exhaust, writhing,
running from its own stumped legs.
I realized I did not understand mercy
as the man shot it in the head.