THE CONNECTION

No, I’ve never come across a dead human

on one of my walks in Golden Gate Park,

but the other day I came upon a dead squirrel

that was being ravaged by insects that no doubt

heard the news and couldn’t pass up an easy meal.

And as I watched the mini-spectacle I started

to feel a bit depressed, while at the same time

reflecting that this was just a part of life.

That the insects were doing what I would have been

doing had I been born the same, and that being a meat

eater myself, it wasn’t that much different than my

feasting on some chicken drumsticks, a rack of spare ribs,

or a nice juicy steak.

”Really not that much different!” I said to myself,

before continuing on my way. . .

~

AN ENCOUNTER OF SORTS

On the streetcar a guy is standing a few feet away

from where I’m sitting, reading a book—holding it

in one hand, and with the other, holding onto the pole.

When he tilts the book upward, I see that he’s reading

a collection of short stories by Paul Bowles, who is one

of my favorite writers.

At this point I’m feeling compelled to say something

for no other reason than to let him know how much

I revere Bowles’s writing. After that, I’d ask him

if he’s read any of Bowles’s novels or travel stories.

“Should I or should I not?” I ponder while continuing

to watch the guy read his book.

Then, all of a sudden he realizes that I’m looking at him

and responds with a less than friendly expression.

“Must be thinking I have some other idea!” I say to myself,

before returning to previous thoughts. . .