Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Blind Spot

Another poem about driving, sort of.

                                                    Blind Spot


                                           Why do those things
                                           we thought we passed
                                           for good and seen fade
                                           in our rearview mirror
                                           suddenly reappear
                                           to honk or hit us
                                           when we try to change
                                           direction?

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