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Roadkill: A Lyric Essay Ashton Jah

Nonfiction

The sun was glaring across the bright, colorful, horizon Highlighting all the beauties nature had in store. Birds were chirping through the air Propelling the bright morning feel. This was pure paradise. Everything seemed to be chiming in succession: the wakings of animals, the sunrise, the evident morning pollution of cars driving. This was the same experience I get every morning. I love living here. The seas, the trees, all highlight my day. I was driving down the road when a squirrel ran out in front of me. As my vehicle drew nearer to the stealthy rodent, the squirrel’s eyes met mine in terror. We exchanged a long glance for a minute or two until the rodent realized his soon demise. Why did the squirrel cross the road? “To get to the other side!”

“Now, remember darling: always look both ways before you cross the street,” my mother commented one day after I tried to run across the street when we were leaving our burrow. “You don’t want to take the chance and end up like one of them squashed animals just tryin to get a nut. Ya hear?” “Yes, mama,” I hesitantly replied. What squashed animals? I thought to myself. According to the Colorado Department of Transportation’s Region 5 Boundary Analysis, there were 2,065 reported roadkill incidents in 2016. Most included species of larger animals, but some, however, were distinctively rodents.

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