Not Again

Not Again
On my way to Wegmans
   window cracked when
two mating wasps tumble
   into my car.     I grab an atlas,
            frantic, scoop and sweep them,
finally, out again   on
   the busiest boulevard in town.
I didn’t kill them,
            or anyone, in the process,
myself included.
            We’ll call that victory.
   Sometimes the heart
            at 50 miles per hour
has time to tumble
    out of a wasp’s nest into
            a slow motion jam
of close calls and old disappointments.
            Not bit.            Not hit.
Today we’ll call that lucky.
S. Robbins   from Readings

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