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

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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 Dancer, Paintbucket.page, and The Westchester Review.