road trips make me want to join peta
The folds of pink flesh peeking through iron,
stiff-bristled ears and wet
snouts; rolling, jostling mounds of fat
huddled up and pushing toward center,
jockeying for a place away from
the grit thrown up from the highway and the wind
biting through the holes in corrugated metal.
The Arizona sandstorm drives the point home—
the desert freezes at midnight.
Pig trucks depress me,
their perpetual, fruitlessly anxious
shuffle and shift.
In the corner of my eye,
the headlight glow reflects off skin
and I could swear there are people
in the metal cages next to me.
Casey Holman is an undergraduate senior at California State University, Long Beach. She studies religion, the Middle East, and her classmates. Her work has previously been published in Rougarou, The Smoking Poet, and chapbooks by Bank-Heavy Press.