The secure or insecure sense of self 
out-pictured on the fancy car ahead,
gives its driver a sense of entitlement, 
to drive others to the edge of the road.

Or hog the road, 
driving slowly so there’s a set of 
eyes behind the fancy car, 
stroking the secure or insecure entitled self. 
But it’s just a car, no?

These maneuvers only work 
until the grumbling eyes behind the fancy car
disengage from the drama on the tarmac.
The eyes notice the bird shit 
splattered all over the fancy car. 

Then a killer urge of mirth surges like 
a volcanic eruption. 
An earthquake of recognition:
The birds do not give a shit 
about a fancy, or not so fancy, car.
In fact, the birds do give a shit! 
Look how they’ve splattered on the fancy car!

But comfort is queen, you say,
why drive a crappy, belching car?!
What’s up with this Anthropocene insecurity
outpictured on damn cars?

And what’s up with people getting 
sucked into total strangers’ ego dramas on the road?
Proffering to know the minds of 
others on the Autobahn?

Ah, birds; oh birds, 
what would I do without your graceful flight
that inspires poetry and wing-envy!
What would I do without the wisdom of your shit
on all our human trappings; 
lest we forget ,
we are Earth’s dust and water
and, in the end, bird shit, too, no?!