MISSED OPPORTUNITIES

Heading north to the western
Blue Ridge — shielding California
cousins from August in Georgia.

Kids strapped in, we’re an hour down the road,
when the afternoon thunderstorm rhumbas
in, flexes twice, and spews three inches

of soupy rain. Having driven this road
for seventeen years, I’m on autopilot,
then I notice a box turtle trying

to cross both lanes of this curved knife that
slices through piney forest — roadside sourwoods
decked with glowing yellow flower spikes.

Rain halted, steam swirls from pavement —
heat wraiths — while this Triassic relic
plods on. Red eyes tell me his pronouns are

he/him — he’s halfway across, and I
pull our Subaru to the shoulder,
beginning the rescue.

Whoosh — a car approaches, maybe
50, 55 — quick swerve — a hollow
pop — a sound like an old pumpkin
being smashed.

Turtle parts explode like brown fireworks —
an unbidden scene comes to mind — Mom’s
loud scream as her Karmen Ghia vaults

the thirty foot embankment on Baja
Highway One, just outside Tecate.

Never miss a chance to say “I love you”.

Gary D. Grossman
Medusa’s Kitchen 10–18–23