Funny, not enough research 
on the present moment yet,  
all of us are experts.  

The construction worker 
holding the dialectical 
slow/stop sign backwards 

yelled at me for moving forward, 
for my safety. Or maybe his? 
He just wanted me to be yelled at,  

not die! (Getting fired 
is expensive.) We had nothing else 
in common. A dumbass teacher  

only teaches his students to bray,  
not to pray, though the sky’s 
soft squashing’s perpetual, 

nailing us to earth the second 
I exit my car in parked traffic, 
no longer protected from lightning 

by rubber, then to stand on my hood 
and look ahead for some origin,  
some god of dominoes, all to— 

Hey you! Yeah you! 
I’m flicking you off  
from the safety of my car
for your safety.