“Her moodiness...” my mother says in a loud whisper to Aunt Arlene. “It's those teenage hormones.”
I glare at the back of her head. She'd be moody too if she were responsible
...
[+]
gives no thought to "did" or "should,"
but, ever tense and present, will
plunge forward to her future kill.
We humans run a different race,
and won't let go of our past case;
never far from who we'd been,
like snakes still trapped in prior skin.