“IT WAS MY FAULT”

I spotted a snail
crawling 'cross the road;
striding in the glory
of its goo on wet black-
top.

I wanted to squat down;
frame a photo
with the STOP
sign faded in
the background.

So, I stood at the curb,
waiting for a car to go by.
Because I stood where I did,
the car veered to avoid me,
squishing the snail
into an unrecognizable
puddle of guts and
an audible CRUNCH.

Our destiny squashed;
for birds to pick at.

It was my fault.
I didn't even
take my photo.
There's no knowing
how much farther
that snail could have
crawled
before meeting its end
if I hadn't been
where I was
when it happened.

I felt bad.
I still feel bad,
but not for that snail.
There's always so much
else
to feel bad about
and so many other
slow moving snails
I found beautiful
and stood by
at the wrong time
for.

I should have
taken my shot
when I had it
and not waited
for the angle;
perfect as it
was;
as it might have
been.

narrative poem written on 03-27-2014 by: on mattkane.com
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