Just this morning it happened: June’s plague.
Squirrels by the dozen descended from nearby trees
choice yellow mangoes left violated, bitten on the vine.
Mosquitoes similarly stung a feast on my ankles
and beside me, turned my dog’s butternut flank red.
I drank a cup of coffee followed by a glass of water.
And I remembered a woman who sits zazen with us
All she does is tell us about how her husband left:
how she wants to die and then kill him–unaware
of her irony. I wonder: am I any different?
The ants that march by me in single file
each one carrying a crumb from last night,
the coffee that wakes me, the blood I let
to mosquitoes swarmed at my ankles,
the squirrels’ mango...