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jon loomis - deer hit lyrics
you’re seventeen and tunnel-vision drunk
swerving your father’s fairlane wagon home
at 3:00 a.m. two-lane road, all curves
and dips—dark woods, a stream, a patchy acre
of teazle and gr-ss. you don’t see the deer
till they turn their heads—road full of eyeb-lls
small moons glowing. you crank the wheel
stamp both feet on the brake, skid and jolt
into the ditch. glitter and crunch of broken gl-ss
in your lap, deer hair drifting like dust. your chin
and shirt are soaked—one eye half-obscured
by the c-cked bridge of your nose. the car
still running, its lights angled up at the trees
you get out. the deer lies on its side
a doe, spinning itself around
in a frantic circle, front legs scrambling
back legs paralyzed, dead. making a sound—
again and again this terrible bleat
you watch for a while. it tires, lies still
and here’s what you do: pick the deer up
like a bride. wrestle it into the back of the car—
the seat folded down. somehow, you steer
the
wagon out of the ditch and
head home
night rushing in through the broken
window
headlight dangling, side-mirror gone
your nose throbs, something stabs
in your side. the deer breathing behind you
shallow and fast. a stoplight, you’re almost home
and the deer scrambles to life, its long head
appears like a ghost in the rearview mirror
and bites you, its t–th clamp down on your shoulder
and maybe you scream, you struggle and flail
till the deer, exhausted, lets go and lies down
2
your father’s waiting up, watching tv
he’s had a few drinks and he’s angry
christ, he says, when you let yourself in
it’s night of the living dead. you tell him
some of what happened: the dark road
the deer you couldn’t avoid. outside, he circles
the car. jesus, he says. a long silence
son of a b-tch, looking in. he opens the tailgate
drags the quivering deer out by a leg
what can you tell him—you weren’t thinking
you’d injured your head? you wanted to fix
what you’d broken—restore the
beautiful body
color of wet straw, color of oak leaves in winter?
the deer shudders and
bleats in the driveway
your father walks to the toolshed
comes back lugging a concrete block
some things stay with you. dumping the body
deep in the woods, like a gangster. the dent
in your nose. all your life, the trail of ruin you leave
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