Detours Du Jour
by Odin Roark

The unexpected, like an ambush,
Requires we turn off the planned route.

So common these inconveniences.
No hot water,
A dead battery,
A stalled elevator,
That female monthly surprise,
Man,
Woman,
We’ve all had our share.

Still we plan.
We play the odds.
Me,
You,
Against the world,
Right?

Wrong.

The conspiracy has purpose.
Think about those who embrace it;
Those who bitch about it.

Who do you want to hang out with?

The “huggers” know there’s a lesson.
The “rejecters” play up the negative.
Huggers,
Rejecters,
Mirrors of reality,
Mirrors of delusion.

Often reflected,
Seldom debated,
Always good party-chatter, eh?

To know the flow?
To deny the flow?
Ah,
That is more than a question.

Make it simple:
Does a wave have a boo-hoo moment
When currents upset its planned capping?

Does a cockroach roll over and have a snit fit
When you’ve cleaned your sink top?

Does a raven shut down
When the typical road kill doesn’t show up?

No. Yet…

We the sentient superiors,
While naturally losing control of our bowels during drunken binges,
Feign regret in divorce court,
Curse the “lanes closed” sign
While navigating the “left home too late” syndrome,
Make such obstacles the enemy.

Yes…

Like the menu greeting you at the local deli,
The Du Jour may not be to your liking,
But cranberry soup just might trump that clam chowder expectation-habit,
If but for some open-mindedness.

Detours live such a chancy life.
Give them a break.
You just might find it’s a friendly alien after all.