Closing my car door, you always say                                     Watchfor deer and text when you get home.I want to, I do, but I will forget.Time moves and I forget.                                                             LookI am trying, I am, but it’s not the kindof thing that trying solves.Onceon the side of a highway, a cop told meabout dragging a full grown buck outthe windshield of a wrecked car all by himself.About the sounds it made, Like the devil learningwhat regret feels like. About the woman it kickedto death in the driver’s seat. The phone callhe had to make to her grown daughter afterwhose first question was, Did the deer survive?Different cop, different time, different highway.Said she keeps her phone on silent then spokeabout securing the crime scene in that classroomin Blacksburg where the one student shotall the others. Every single one of themhad a cell phone, she said, and for hours afterevery single one rang and rang or vibratedacross the floor in the same slow waythat blood pools. No one was allowed to answer,no one, so instead the phones rang all nightuntil batteries were empty, voicemails fullof a thousand Call me when you get this so I knowyou’re okays. Turns out time moves the wayblood does. Batteries too. Runs outlike a startled deer across a road.                                            Listenl am trying to find a way to tell you this.There are things that trying solves but thisis not one of them.