Synapse of Serendip
As I am holding my 14 year old Sheltie
while the Vet is slipping her the long dream,
just as the light dimmed in her eyes,
I could only see her running free
chasing rabbits on my uncle’s farm.
Have you noticed wider smiles
on the holiday shoppers today,
even though Bobby Cruz lies
in his own vomit under the freeway bridge?
My nephew entered the barbed gates
of a state penitentiary the moment
my three year old grandson
slipped on his spider man costume
and leaped from the couch into my arms.
My tom-tabby scratched at the back door
at 3 a.m., announcing his need to come in
for the night right after four hundred cats
in China were gassed as pests.
I cherish the wisdom I have gathered
by staying alive, and then weep at my
inability to translate that commodity into
a form our children will understand or accept.
I vote expectantly for my chosen politician
because it is my privilege to do so,
weighing the costs of that liberty
against the fruitlessness of my effort.
Would you like the Author to read this poem to you?