Drayage comes day and night and game’s hit—
then post-dyin’, it is best to fry it.
I’m being candid: I’ll be doing up a mess; can’t deny it.
Damn chewy, there’s a panful of brain,
tempting you to decry it.
I dig when opossum is tossed
in with ’shrooms…heft a sweet bite aloft,
the comfort-food gustation tastes soft,
this fare’s luscious, greasy unctuous burned off.
It’s good feed and sure love it, so I dine
on these vittles from road, flattened; they’re one of a kind.

Like a Rorschach blot looks the lazy gray fox that’s hit on the speedway’;
it’s just starting to curl at the corners, eyed by vultures in greed’s way.
I am gonna fight carcass-snatchers, damn right!
and grab that fox that they think is solely their domain.
They screech as they see me come near,
their delicacy I’ll steal is what they fear,
I imagine them thinking: “Hey, go get a steer,
leave the pancaked fox here!”
I run to select the piece with skin and bones still in place—
tasty vittles on road flattened will quite soon be fill my face.

The vittles joy’s tossed into the sack of serge kept with me;
the bag is for fillin’ eats; I find it works perfectly.
This is kinda like game sup,
but “shooters” worked vehicularly.
The fox was unable to crawl when hit by truck with U-Haul,
it once was puffed up as a ball; now flat as a wall.
Chow thoughts fill my brain
as I work hard to scrape off
flattened vittles on road; fattened I’ll be, so don’t scoff!

Inside my new kitchen, dinner will be made in a while.
Moist and fresh roast will be the gustation that I will do up in style.
The road can feed ya with its highway food
that some diners find kinda vile.
It takes will power to go and seize
feed off pavement; can’t do it with ease,
with cars play a macadam strip tease,
try not to decease.
A fool with bad optics can get hit, not using the tools
of his vision; on road flattened might he be, like a smashed mule.

I pepper this feast as my bounty’s prepared; off I flay the skin.
I can see: The meat’s not laced with parasites, so there’s no reason to delay the din’.
I like cuisine that’s been wrenched
offa the hot macadam.
On the wall I’ll display the skin.
The alimentation from the road,
is soon in the oven gonna roast,
of squashed-low cuisine I know the ropes,
some folks think I’m a cooking rogue,
when it’s off the to the roadways I start to roam,
their criticism seems kind of rote,
I’d agree if a roan
had been hit on the road and I employed it for the main
course of vittles once rode, flattened, and I cooked the remanes [sic].