The boy on the bike
looked back as he rode
crunching fall leaves underneath
spinning wheels.
He wobbled once
and I shouted
Look forward!
but he didn’t hear me
because my face was turned
into my window
as I drove forward
while looking back.
I ran over a someone else’s roadkill
the column of grey and red fur
unrecognizable
in my rearview mirror
for when do we ever really
look forward.
Dalia Astalos is a food and culture writer in San Diego, CA. She’s been a poet since fifth grade when her first poem was published.