What bothered me most
about my ride home
aside from the fact
that the flag girls were gone
was the bloated raccoon
guts up near the concrete
divider that throttles the traffic flow down;
specifically that
it was doomed from the start.
It wasn't too slow
or too anything else--
it only had nowhere left to run
but into the tire of some tired dolt.
"It could always be worse,"
I reminded myself
like the giraffe
who starts life with some grunts
and a six-foot drop to the ground.
The end, the beginning; man, animal:
it doesn't much matter.
We've got the same sentence.
No comments:
Post a Comment