Backing out the driveway

the car lights cast an eerie glow

in the morning fog centering

on movement in the rain slick street



Hitting brakes I anticipate a squirrel or a cat or sometimes

a little raccoon

I once braked for a blind little mole who try though he did

could not escape the cat toying with his life

Mother-to-be possum occasionally lopes home . . . being

naturally . . . slow her condition makes her even more ginger



We need a sign POSSUM CROSSING to warn coffee-gurgling neighbors:

we share the streets with more than trucks and vans and

railroad crossings



All birds being the living kin of dinosaurs

think themselves invincible and pay no heed

to the rolling wheels while they dine

on an unlucky rabbit



I hit brakes for the flutter of the lights hoping it's not a deer

or a skunk or a groundhog

coffee splashes over the cup which I quickly put away from me

and into the empty passenger seat

I look . . .

relieved and exasperated ...

to discover I have just missed a big wet leaf

struggling . . . to lift itself into the wind

and live