It’s not a Syrian child washed up on the beach, it’s

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a rolled up greenish-grey exhaust-stained carpet on

the northbound shoulder of the highway. It’s not

a German shepherd, coyote or fox battered to the side

of the 5, a half mile before the Balboa exit. It’s curled

up, holding itself. It’s nylon fiber, not hair or fur bristling.

It’s not a lost dolphin lying in shattered windshield glass

or homeless person too tired to take another step. It’s

not another body-bagged soldier. It’s a piece of rug,

being passed at 70, 80 miles an hour by thousands

every day. Don’t think about it. Put the radio on.

What’s the matter with you?