Ordinarily, I guard myself,
step squarely in the path's center,
take the worn one, avoid the vicious
cardinal or rampaging squirrel.
Ordinarily, the pie is apple,
the side potatoes, the dressing ranch,
the drink koolaide.
Ordinarily, I take the Interstate,
not the blue highway, buy the Chevy
not the Maserati, wear Keds not Jimmy Choo
Today, however, I am older
by only a few minutes
and that has made all the difference.
The wind blows, and I move to speak up-
to toss caution high overhead so that
the sun's rays, the ebullient raindrops
bathe me in hope.
I am brimming with muse juice,
teetering on the rim of remarkable.
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