Overcorrection

It was a cool autumn beginning,

Not so much rushed as distracted

By vehicles perceiving the fog rolling in.

Up ahead a car appears weaving through traffic,

Brake lights blinking sporadically,

Lurching to stay on course as though

Overcorrecting for lapses in judgement.


Perhaps this is what life looks like to observers,

That perspective of being twice removed:

Fellow cruisers who watch you swerve,

Shake their heads as they overtake you,

Preferring to peek at you in their rearview mirrors,

Convincing themselves they’d be able to steer 

Your little hatchback more responsibly than you.

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