Acceleration, in the rodent race,
is treasured by electrons, fossil fuels
in oxidation, more defined by pace
than bullets, and as coveted as jewels.
The run is competition for an end
that no one known to any has acquired.
I watch somnambulating people spend
their decades in a race to be retired.

And we adapt more readily than mice.
Minute adjustments made remake the mix
so we can phone or scan while driving. Twice
the work is done without attempt to fix
the base invasion: ivy-veined commute –
a labyrinth with cul-de-sacs at root.