Author: Puppet


I rear-ended a monk's car yesterday.
I slammed on the brakes too late and he emerged,
orange robes and Buddhist beads and
a round shaved scalp.
I would have smiled if my heart
hadn't been beating so hard,
and I would have engaged him in conversation
if he hadn't been glaring so intently.
I suppose even Buddhists get road rage.
There was little damage on either car,
just some paint scratches of teal on blue or
blue on teal, depending on which car you could see.
I hoped he would tell me something new,
about the underlying truth of life and its forces,
but we just exchanged insurance information.

As he hopped back in his car and drove off,
I sat behind my wheel,
trying to figure out the world.
It's days like yesterday that make me realize that
humans and wisdom don't mix very well.


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