Suddenly Always Happens On Familiar Roads
on the bleary-eyed drive
on the too familiar road to work,
in the hypnosis of the
morning market report,
the Dow down half a point
in early trading, looking at the red
scabs of dawn irritated, teased
at the dry ragged edge by the clipped
nail of the sun, when suddenly, because suddenly
always happens on too familiar roads,
two skunk kits, wrestling, wrestling,
because mom didn't teach them,
at least not yet, not to play
on the street. Or perhaps,
they snuck off while she slept
off last night's stink. I don't know.
What I do know is I went all fishtail
screeching stop on a too familiar road.
I waited a time, watched for a time,
such exuberant gamesmanship,
this white-striped black
thrashing mobius band of youth.
Pulling into the left lane slow,
no traffic coming,
I got onto my shift giddy
at a sight that was mine alone,
not knowing that today,
attentive on a too familiar road,
I would swerve to avoid some
white-striped black smudges.