Mitchell Angelo

Campfire Songs

Digestive space,

A reason to start numbering again. 

An overestimation of the pebbles, the piles.

I wish you could have seen it. The white belly

peppered with rot. The odd-cocked jaw of roadkill.

Must have miscounted the miles and ended up far 

from home. Bloated necked, white bulging. The boys

back home call that a shiner—it’s a pretty bad one. 

The road ripped through her skull like

spilled ink. Numeric space,

A reason to ingest again—

I wish you could have seen it. Splayed gentle, 

like mouths on a mirror. I’m probably 

lying, it’s easier this way. Twisting your skin

around your ankles. Bending the toenails blue.

I laid down next to the dead deer so she 

wouldn’t feel embarrassed

Mitchell Angelo is a senior creative writing major at Purchase College, and the Managing Editor of Gutter Mag. His microwave is haunted. His work has previously appeared in Gandy, and The Westchester Review.