Squealing wheels, unwanted pregnancies
aim collisions with one good eye, the one
with timing precise enough, the one not cut
in slices by its glass, its thieving glass
refusing to be taken for the fool.
What’s the going rate on self-control?
Put your request in writing, our day nurse says,
then I did as told to, so I gave them this.
No word will ever go to waste. The sin
that will damn you’s in not saying it.
I made a habit of letting each tool forget
what it was for, let each lie where it fell
expecting someone else to know the plan
complete with the usual scheduled delays,
each win with its equal and opposite loss.
A good thing it is they never heard of us!
Another good thing is they don’t realize that!
Better yet, we’ve nothing they can use!
And best of all, what’s right will not prevail,
so we stand half a chance, once on our own.
Before the snow morphed into freezing rain,
I landed flat as ice, flat down on my face.
It’s not the risk of change that makes me ill
come morning, nor predictions that I’ll not
come through in one piece proving what I chose.