It wasn’t a good day
to wake up angry.
There were turkeys
in the ditch,
doing silly turkey things together
with their big rear feathers
pointed toward the highway,
mooning everyone driving north,
and the sun
was smiling coyly
through the lace of clouds
that made the veil on its Sunday hat.
There were things to do
and people to see
and songs to hear
and rain to smell
and nothing to be angry about.
Maybe it was a good day
to wake up angry.
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