The traumatized owl
sits in the road,
stares at the three people
trying to save him
with the mildly autistic expression
of a pre-schooler
who's seen too many episodes of Barney,
comprehends the absurdity of a talking dinosaur,
yet still believes,
having never known the degradation
behind the happy family,
lives in the realm of primal imagination,
is still in touch
with the Pleistocene within his soul.
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