Farewell, My Deer
The day was long, and I was weary
And the night’s journey home was oh-so-dreary
I knew the risks of the winding terrain
And the lethargic functioning of my sleep-deprived brain
But I got in my car and started to drive
Never thinking that I might not make it alive
As I drove, I reflected on events of the day
Over all the right words I was unable to say
Of the time that I spent, both at work and at school
And the woman I cared for, who made me a fool
She led me and used me and tore me asunder
And though the road worsened, my mind, it did wander
I thought of her face, and I felt like a chump
Then I raised up my eyes, and there was a THUMP!
“Forsooth!” shouted I—my thoughts rattled, unclear
“Either I’m dreaming or I just hit a deer!”
In the instant that followed, I became quite aware
Of a massive deer carcass, upside-down in the air
With a final pirouette, to the ditch she did tumble
As I swerved to the side, and as I stopped I did mumble,
“Why was it there, in the road standing still?
Was it eating cast-off Fritos, or was it mentally ill?
How could this happen? Why me? Why now?
And look at this dent—I might as well have hit a cow!
My life keeps going south—indeed, yes, it sucks
And now I’ve earned the righteous anger of the area’s bucks.”
I drove on and I pondered o’er this, my brainteaser
Then I remembered at last my near-empty freezer
“This isn’t so bad,” I mused, not accepting defeat
“My car may be damaged, but at least I have meat.”
So I made a U-turn and drove back to make good
Only to see my battered deer strapped to some redneck’s truck hood
“Flying Fig Newtons!” I swore, vigorously shaking my fist
“I was feeling alright, but now I’m just perturbed!”
I turned around yet again, and I started for home
Angry and bitter and feeling alone
My day, it did bite, from beginning to end
And now I’m complaining to you, my old friend
My advice to you now, whether you heed it or not
Is when you’ve had a rough day, definitely do not
Let your feelings distract you from getting home safe
Or you, too, might mangle some poor woodland waif
And it’s not just the guilt, either; in fact, there’s another
It turns out this damage . . . well, my insurance won’t cover
So lest you wish to pay two grand for a non-crumpled hood
Keep your eyes on the road, or life’ll clock you, but good.