Face Down Feels the Best

she lay on her back on a mattress of river facing upward
dumbly staring away from me as I strode into traffic
neglectful mouth-breathing mother
palm's always up as if to perpetually say duh what can you do she is hopeless hopeless hopeless
her soggy stare and frog belly cheeks
floating among the displaced and disenfranchised petals
half submerged in a boggy cocktail is where flowers are supposed to be
burnt virgins may have supplied the foam her dress is made from
I honked her waterlogged carcass algae green, murky blue, spots of blood and bile
always clashing with the browns and blacks of my youth
around and around the frozen circle of this Midwestern NASCAR track
on which I am forever turning left
fish scented water on my wheels
deadcold enough to paralyze lips
I said I would not lay down on my back but I did
and after coughing out the dust cloud
I threw her in the dumpster
the same stupid look was still on her doughy face