Death by Prairie

They fear and scorn our prairies:

“Kansas?” they say. 

“Watch out for Toto in a tornado!”

The Wizard of Oz jokes mask their fear and loathing,

A prairie-angst that dreads

Monotonous fields of corn and wheat, 

Soybeans and milo and wind turbines,

That is unsettled by the thought

Of a ravenous funnel-monster

Descending from the clouds,

Devouring all in its path.

I smile because I know

The prairie does want to kill us all.

But our Grim Reaper

Is likelier a deer than a twister.

Yesterday on the interstate,

I saw the deer-corpse first:

Bloody, shredded, fresh,
Tongue out and intestines splattered

Across the dotted white line;

I swerved around it.

Half a mile down the road, 

Ambulance lights flashed.

A trooper took a report

Near an SUV with out of state plates,

Its hood, bumper, windshield 

Caved in as if by some

Unseen malevolent monstrosity.

I breathed a silent prayer —

Christ, have mercy —

And continued along the highway 

Into the glorious orange-purple flames

Of the prairie sunset.

(Alternate title: Oh, Deer.)