on the o’hare morning

Riding next to you 

on the Chicago Skyway Toll Bridge

I see a blinking Dodge

with the whole front fender missing—the whole thing.

It makes me think about those kids

born with jelly-chins,

and then about this fawn I found on

the side of the road when I was nineteen.

She looked all wire and bone

and was mewing—

half her downy jaw lay in a parking lot

or a side street or a belly somewhere.

All the muscle of her tongue stuck dry and

naked in the wind,


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