Natural Intolerance
I hear waves of fall leaves
crisply scraping across the
parking lot below my window,
swirling aimlessly back and forth
with each gust of wind
as darkness approaches.
I hear tribes of geese
sounding calls of distress
as they quickly summon the
launch from their feeding
stations on the grass
between the roads,
racing to their night pond.
cars race by,
honking at the geese in the street,
who slow their indignant
right of way.
the geese,
weaker than the car-beast,
shriek! out of the way
as the motorist rushes past,
smug in dominating
a
goose.
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