Roadkill Poem by Dillon Gay

There was a man of about eighty-four
His wings of glory torn off long before
Hunkering over getting his mail
Here is a quick fantasy of mine, for which I would have surely gone to jail

I sped up in my pick-up truck
I would run over him if I had any luck
My eyes closed and bump
I hit a huge lump

I opened my eyes and saw on the window blood had splattered
I smiled as if it didn't really matter
As I saw his body contorting and twisting
Seeing this was like scratching a place that was itching

You think I am evil you say
I assure you if you saw him these thoughts would be at bay
For I made his entrails a great vulture's meal
And he was my beautiful roadkill

Perspective: A normal person with dark fantasies