I was going fast
and didn’t see the ducks on the freeway
until I was practically on top of them.
I’m not even sure it happened,
just heard a little thump
and I was away from there.
Later, when I looked at my bumper
I didn’t see anything.
There wasn’t even any circumstantial evidence,
like a stray feather, or blood, or a dangling claw.
But still, it left me with more
of a sense of anxiety
than if I’d been stopped
by a policeman for speeding.
Maybe those ducks are symbolic
of the insubstantiality of our own lives,
of dogs, people, the hamster my grand-daughter cuddles,
creatures with whom I should empathize,
as if it were myself I had eliminated.