Harebrained

Harebrained

Bobby pin behind the bed
Tells of tender words unsaid
Bobby pin upon the floor
Speaks of one who wanted more.

They wait like landmines
Stewing with thoughts of world domination
And unruly hair tamed into obeisance.

Miro’s hare stares alone from an orange field
Looking back toward an unseen turtle face
Having already outstripped him in the race
Feeling oh-so-tired of his slow and steady pace.

(These thoughts do not bode well
Beneath a turtle shell)

For a time, the turtle felt
The pins and needles sensation
Of blood rushing back into forgotten places.
Enough to stir him forward-
Though never fast enough.

The race is done
The hare has won
And the turtle’s gone
back to sleep.

But beneath the hair
The mind knows:
That the prize behind
The finish line
Is no consolation
For crossing alone.