Unfashionably Late to a Funeral

It's no wonder
that the full moon affects us
drawn like the tide.
Textbooks profess
that we're 60% water
the rest mostly corn.
"Split the difference,"
the scientists would say
if they'd been born
to pull wrenches.
It's a tradesman's euphemism
for "make them both a bit wrong
for the sake of seeming right."

On my way to sling pipe
one guilty Sunday morning
I spot a dead hawk
in the shoulder of the highway.
It's close enough to the guard rail
to say that some maddened motorist
had aimed for it.
There are sicker souls
than those who would work
on the Sabbath
or put metal in their genitals.

With the quarry next to the predator
three feet beyond
the white line that means wrong
I nod and take note at 75
that there's room on the cross
for two.