Important Things

Almost 8 am, a Wednesday
on a highway east
of where most live, a man
slowed his big semi
to an almost halt.

8 am attracts the big crowds
on a weekday, busy highway east
of where most live
yet west of work, and they,
trafficking in Important Stuff To Do,
lit up angry this bright morning,
forced to slow and stop behind a man
with a farting jake brake,
big rig lumbering to a crawl.

A dozen horns shrieked, indignant.
At least as many middle fingers
hopped to attention, and words
too coarse for this poem
hurtled from sneering mouths,
all that vitriol pointed towards a man
on the crisp cusp of 8 am
on a highway east
of where most live.

Crowds wild, rig halted,
fingers flying, sharp curses
thrown like spears towards
a Wednesday man at 8 am
who stole precious moments
from the angry commuters
to save the lives of seven turkeys;
two big ones and five littles,
who deigned to cross
the 8 am river of cars
driven by important people
with Such Important Things To Do.

–Melinda Coppola