The Ring-Tailed Gauntlet

image from animal.memozee.com

The Ring-Tailed Gauntlet

“God answers sharp & sudden on some prayers

--a gauntlet with a gift in it.”--Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

One does need to work,

both for livelihood & pride;

that’s not in dispute.

When you are

a wage slave for more

than fifty years,

if you’re smart, you will gain

              sustenance & provide tangible 

              sanctuary for your best 

              self from the 

              surreptitious application of your poetic view

within the ragged edges of the tedious rut. 

I was fortunate that my servitude 

was midst 300 acres of Douglas Fir,

hundred year old gnarled sentinels 

surrounding vast meadows of wildflowers

on the placid shores of American Lake. 

As a dedicated VA civil servant,

        I tended to arrive on the campus hours early,

                 so that I could sit & watch the sunrise over the water

                             with Mt. Rainier in stark silhouette, or listen to the

                                    rain when the marine flow left low clouds over the

                                            gentle rippled waves wriggling with the wind,

                                    or when it was clear I could thrill to the noisy flight

                              of ten kinds of military choppers, fighters, or cargo planes,

                   seeming to just hang in the crisp morning air as they

           circled the air fields at McCord AFB & Ft. Lewis, always

competing for the sky with eagles, Canadian geese, mallards & swarming

murders of crows.

Our building, the Blind Rehab Center,

was furthest south along the lake,

with Ft. Lewis, all 75 miles of it, right there

over a low fence beyond the parking lot.

                 Deer would forage up from the forest

                 & leap that fence with ease, then graze

                 just outside our office windows; twice we

                saw black bear, & had to call for security to

                chase them back into the military reservation. 

                                    But like all gardens, all oasis, there were

                                    serpents to deal with, for we suffered a plague

                                    of raccoons, fed & cherished by the foolish.

Often at 5 a.m. as I                   hiked in from the parking lot,

                       passing through the darkness between

                  outdoor lights, thug-like raccoon muggers

              would leap out fearlessly from behind trees,

          demanding food as their tariff & tribute

for allowing you safe passage through their

          gauntlet of yellow eyes, twitching ring tails, snarls

               & sharp teeth. Since there actually had been some staff         

                      attacked, even bitten, over the years, I always felt

                            a little like Indiana Jones braving the fur gangs

                       of forty-pound rodents, yelling at them, hearing the echo

                of my anger as it shattered the quiet, sometimes having

          to take swipes at them with my cane, & hiss at them

like a two-legged tom cat, clutching at my lunch sack,

never turning my back on them

as I unlocked one of the back doors.           The VA would tirelessly trap

                                       dozens of then twice annually, & relocate them

                                       somewhere; but to no avail, because they always

                                       seemed to return in a few short weeks, bringing

                                       their whelps to teach them panhandling & mugging. 

Once inside my building, I became Master of the Watch, I owned the space

for an hour or so before the other staff members began to trickle in. I would

microwave my breakfast, brew up some coffee, click on my computer, & learn

to surf the Net; at least as much as the government overseers allowed. For 

years I was always there to greet the others as they arrived, some only minutes

before the start of business. This routine of arriving early, centering myself,

focusing my energy, meditating, & often writing poetry served me well, providing

me with the succor, joy, & enlightenment that was embedded in the outer
reaches of the often overlooked frame around each day. 

When the harness and

yoke are hung up at long last,

freedom blossoms bright. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

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