Of all the really dubious decisions
(and this is the only one we know
about, knowing nothing about
much of anything)
Mother hatched us barely three
or so yards from the swoosh of
the interstate- and not one of those
two lane chicken **** things where
nicotine addicted deer meander
freely, shooting the breeze and
chewing on a fresh **** tossed
from a window into a nice morning
like this
Mother saw fit to hollow out
a capricious tunnel sort of thing
under a pile of god knows what
(and god knows even less
than we do)
Was she fooled by all the greenery
or was she just plain pooped,
too tired to find a decent tree
like any decent mother
would do?
Somehow this eight lane
truck route seemed ideal
even as we are thrown back
and forth by unnatural winds
and great heaving gusts of
gasoline and diesel, where
one errant breeze is sure
and shrill death
We are a soot covered clutch
that even mother love cannot rescue
(not that we know anything about
that) "What you don't know won't
hurt you" she was wont to sing
hinting at the ones that came
before us and the ones that
will surely follow
The crows gather at dusk and we
can almost hear their bone crunching
laughter and the buzzards do lazy
fly-overs, no one is in any special
hurry under this layer of traffic,
the constant bleak black motion
There is no appealing to the bird kind
in any of them, that we would compare
our lot in life is an act of desperation
you see, because Mother held life
lessons in her grip with the mercenary
coolness of one who doesn't waste
even a moment of joy on those
not meant to live long enough
to appreciate it