Joshua Young



roadkill smear one block over, still we grind
our hips till we’re sunk in the couch fabric,
& no one is coming home. i want you to
say my full name—i want you to say it like
a president might—you smell of apricots
when you shouldn’t. we won’t forget the bear
we saw outside issaquah, its limbs, claws
scattered from the point of impact to where
the semi rested. i think of our neighborhood,
that turn, all those dead animals.





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