Who needs your help and what does it really mean to lend a hand? Those are the bigger, underlying questions that serve as the backdrop of this seemingly simple Typewriter Rodeo poem.
Turtle Crossing
It was not
What we expected
There, on the sidewalk
Creeping along like it owned it —
A turtle
And headed straight out
Into the street
We all stopped
It kept going
“Don’t let it cross!”
And we sprung into action
(Well, we didn’t have to move
That fast)
We scooped up the wayward shell-bearer
And plopped it safely
In the grass
“What now?”
“Where did it come from?”
“We can’t leave it here!”
“No, we are NOT getting a new pet.”
Meanwhile its head had poked back out
And it had slowly angled, backed toward the street
“No!” we cried
Except one of us had Googled —
“Turtles most often
Know where they are going
It’s best to just let them.”
And so, looking both ways, we carried it
Across the street
Set it down, and off it went
At its slow, sure pace.
And we, unlike that turtle,
Resumed what we were doing
On our much quicker
But far less certain
Paths.