On the freeway

Just now, with my dad, on the freeway, I saw 

a baby raccoon—dead— a pathetic little pile 

of fur. 

And my first thought was, “Oh poor thing!” 

And my second thought was, “I hate raccoons.” 

And I turned away. 

And then I wondered, 

if that is precisely the Problem in our world. 

We drove on, 

and I saw, as my dad said, 

“A recurring theme of broken glass.“ 

And I clapped my hands 

and wrote that down, 

and then wondered if maybe, 

that is all it all is anyway.