drawn on a globe must perforce
intersect. No careful ink or
edge of steel can avoid this
casual truth, the imperfect
So it was, and so it will be on
the street of elms, the street of
circumstance. Two forces,
winds of a bifurcate purpose
did meet in a way most spectacular
A frog, a simple amphibian, making
its way from pond to leaf, unaware
and gullet full of river-minnow.
And a car, a humming mountain
of steel and motion.
In a pond, most plain
on the edge of a green field, filled o’er
with garish faces and spinning wheels,
and the quiet clink of metal against
white balls, slapping their way
down their predestined course.
The car jumped the curve, as the
frog jumped the leaf.
A collision most strange, even
though unremarked by most.
For the frog did not die, yet was spun
into the heavens by a black wheel
and came to rest on the gleaming
crimson hood of the car
goggle-eye staring into blank stare
of its pilot.
The frog and the man did not exchange
names, or titles or the
memories of the quiet little lives.
They both hopped away, thankful
for their lives
and hopeful that their lines
would never again
[Story on Demand for Jackie Jones. This is a weird one.]