"You don't know how lucky you have it.",
I say as I brake for the bird
who is hopping uncertainly
in the middle of the road,
torn between flight
and flirting with death
one second longer.
But today it will live.
A still squirrel lays in the middle of the road
a little ways down
And I swerve to avoid it, too
Even though it was already dead
Just like the ten month old baby
But the world doesn't stop turning
for either;
and I weep
for both.