The Doh-Doh And The Doe's

The Doh-doh And The Does.

Six deer cross my path 

on a dark country lane,

January's juggernauts 

jolting my senses.

Each completely ignorant

of the 240 horse power

held in check by my left foot.

Numbed by two quarts of Crown Royal,

My five toes still 

manage to prevent 

a vehicular, 

vennison splash.


Twelve wide brown eyes 

stare frozen at me

as rubber treads scream 

and grip frozen concrete.


Thankfully I missed them.


Then they scattered 

like buckshot from a 

weapon unwittingly discharged.


I was a god visiting 

thier fragile world 

in a chariot of steel.


Thier execution was 

pardoned by fate,

in a twisted version 

of Robert Frost 

pausing in the snowy woods.


My shakey hands gripped 

the steering wheel,

grateful for the 

handful of brain cells 

left uninebriated 

by my daily addiction.


I drive on through 

swirls of white,

thumping over two dead 

skunks and a dead possum,

who had met other gods l

ess adept at commas

while trampling nature 

into asphalt.