Making Bad Decisions
The animal instinct so acute—
these cute little animals
ought to know better.
Or so it would seem.
yet they dart
with such precision—precisely
at the wrong moment—
across the road.
Some even stopping in mid-dash and thereby
compounding the error of their ways.
Then retracing their scurried steps
wired for sound
they forego the concept altogether
of being past the point of no return.
And given options they tend to return
to the road
to be more precise
to that side of the road most traveled by;
where cars like comets come hurtling by.
Their rocket scientist fathers
having since moved on
to their own bad decisions
perhaps a pelt left strewn across
some double yellow line
have nothing to teach in the matter.
And proper nutrition left to the mother—
she knows nothing of speed and oncoming cars.
The only sense of safety here
lies somewhere in numbers.
Which they throw at the world
with reckless abandon.