In the trunk of my used, gold car
an ottoman purchased on clearance
sits among camping supplies.
Day has receded to the deep blue of twilight,
not quite yielded to night’s velvet fingers.
The first stars are peaking down
despite the lights from the city.
Up on my left, I spot three deer, nibbling
daintily on a manicured lawn,
white tails swishing.
How many drivers missed those
small movements and mistook those lithe forms
for three of the plastic mannequins
that dot the tamed lawns of this neighborhood,
the real dismissed for the expected?
I slow, crawling by while the deer
attend to the green shoots.
Rolling down the window, the humid
summer air mingles with
the cold, stale air produced
by the air conditioning
and they collide on my skin.
When did we start believing that fairy tale
that we could leave Eden?
Edited by: Anna Grace Dulaney