Pointing Across the Imaginary Lines of Extinction
A mother came to the library in search of a third-grade dinosaur book.
I told her that I should take long meander
off a short dizzy emptiness before the stroke of midnight.
This is not what she wanted to hear.
How is this related to her question about a dinosaur book?
Maybe,it was just a mood thing that I could not shake at that moment.
In the future, I will be more cautious about blurting out random brain farts.
For all of my tumbleweed sweetness, I should definitely know better.
I do not have the lungs of an expert diver, so I must stay on dry land.
I must be careful on how I moderate my breath in front of the public.
Last night, I could feel the soft touch of a pallbearer wishing
to carry me away as I slept in my borrowed bed of joy.
No good turn seems to go unpunished by the inhaled nature of bereavement.
The love of a good mother can keep a child or dinosaur book warm and fuzzy.
Thanksgiving is just around the corner, and my community cats
have been talking about doing a turkey potluck sort of thing with me
as security against all the undesirable critters
that are famous for crashing Holiday gatherings in the neighborhood.
At this time, I must turn my attention to the next desperate mother
standing in front of me at the library reference desk.
As I bite my bottom lip, I take a purposeful stroll toward
all the man-in-the-moon books that have been showing up on our shelves.
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