Friday, August 11, 2017

Caterpillar on the Hood


I saw little antenna peeking
up over my windshield wipers.
A caterpillar on the hood of my car
looked right at me. “Where are you
going little caterpillar,” I asked.

“I’m going to Hollywood to
become a famous movie star,” said
the caterpillar on the hood of my
car. He rose up on his many rear legs
and flexed a little.

“I’m not driving to Hollywood,” I said.
“Why not? Don’t you think I have the
charisma, the charm, the guile to be a
famous movie star,” asked the caterpillar
on the hood of my car.

“Well, I’m not a Hollywood agent, talent scout
or otherwise in the know type, but I’m not
sure there’s a high demand for caterpillar movie
stars,” I said.
I drove forward in the left turn lane.

“See what an action star I am, hanging on
the hood of your car,” said the caterpillar,
who was indeed hanging on the hood of
my car. “C’mon, take me to Hollywood,”
it said, two legs folded in prayer.

“No. I’m afraid I just can’t do that,” I said,
turning onto the highway.
“Whoa, where are you taking me? West is
the other way,” said the caterpillar on the hood
of my car.

“I’m sorry. Really I am. You’re really impressive I’ll admit.
Maybe when you’re a butterfly, I’ll reconsider,” I said as I accelerated.
“You’re loss. I won’t mention you when I give my
best actor speech at the Oscars,” said the caterpillar
on the hood of my car.

The caterpillar slid off the hood,
aloft in the breeze, disappearing from
my sight. Maybe to land on another hood,
and get the right sort of ride.
I’ll won’t hold my breath though.

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