Zebra Stripes

Zebra stripes move and shift,
my feet carry me in long lifts
yet they give me short shrift;
dash as quick I may
I never catch my prey;
simple pattern-camouflage
always let’s them dodge;
it’s those zebra stripes
that escape my snipes;
I can’t tell one from the other,
where starts the mother,
where ends the brother;
it’s all just zebra stripes
and never are they my types;
I’m color blind and in a bind
lost among the wavy lines;
and even as my fingers type,
I frown and slide down
a gently sloped zebra stripe.