What is the foundation of roadkill?
Let me take the temperature of the asphalt

again—I have tiny blue-bottle feet,
I have wings. With this hunger, I feed

the maggots in my body. The dead,
the fruit rot, the shit are locations

like massage parlours or requited love.
And it takes a millisecond to hit the windshield—

all my beautiful babies spatter
and spread. Their cowboy mouths

test the air, unaware of their cowboyness,
of their mortality, of the submerged

people under the glass. The driver himself
is a dream—therefore, a living organism.

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Arlene Ang is the author of four poetry collections including Bundles of Letters Including A, V and Epsilon (Texture, 2008). She is staff editor at The Pedestal Magazine and Press 1, and blogs at event museum. She lives in Spinea, Italy.