BONUS SONNET: In Which I Take A Duck To The Face At 250 Knots

"It could have been much worse," I chant again.
I could have lost another friend today
But he was luckier than some have been,
Was rescued from his fate. But still I sway
My heart beats its arrhythmia which took
Our Mac from us (it has been diagnosed;
I just can't have caffiene). I'm told I look
As though eight hours of sun burned me like toast.
It's true: a bullet dodged is scarier
Than one that hits. Adrenaline begone!
I did all that I could and did not err,
But still I shake a bit. I'm holding on,
But cannot help but damn these unjust fates
That brought me to this pass this, of all dates.

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In Which I Have Had To Keep My Wits About Me On My Way

Night driving is a challenge at its best,

When elements do merge, as Whitman said.

Less horrid than at sunset, when it's west

To which one has to drive into the red

And blue and grey, directly into glare.

But I was driving east; 'twas just delay

And indolence that forced me to beware

Of darkness, eighteen-wheelers, and the play

Of wind and snow and ice across the road.

At least no white-outs threatened, but snow plows

And unskilled winter drivers, these bestowed

An extra need for caution and for vows

To tarry not so long 'midst the delights

Of coffee, chess and wine, on future nights.