I’m sailing down the road burning fossil fuel, fouling the air with exhaust made by my noisy, powerful engine, slaughtering countless insects, the occasional bird, rabbit, cat, deer, and dog, when I suddenly realize what an insane, barbaric thing I’m engaged in — all of this destruction at my hands while sitting in comfort and calm, with dials glowing, gauges, fabric, plastic, leather, and shiny knobs. I am a murderer, yes, and yet I am breaking no laws. I slow down, pull over, park at the side of the road. I get out of the car, throw my keys into a ditch, and walk the rest of the way home. By the time I arrive, I am centuries old. I am a poet. A seer. I have hair on my nose. I fashion a cane for the coming millennium. Little children gather ’round. I am forgiven — for what, they don’t know. For all.
broken tea cup — at the thrift shop
I give the change to charity
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces