Last week, <br />as I passed beneath the branches <br />of a budding maple, <br />I was struck, <br />square atop the head, <br />by a liquid pigeon dropping. <br />I think it was a pigeon. <br />By the time I looked up, <br />remembering, dilatorily, <br />to close my mouth, <br />the culprit had vanished <br />too quickly for a positive identification. <br /> <br />I stood for a moment, <br />blotting my pate with a kleenex, <br />and then resumed my walk, <br />pondering the cosmic import <br />of the incident. <br /> <br />What are the odds, I wondered, <br />against this particular concatenation <br />of happenings, <br />this synchronicity of step and sphincter? <br /> <br />I am aware <br />that such an occurrence <br />is considered fortunate by some. <br />Is this mere superstition or, in this case, <br />a significant phenomenon? <br />Am I a lucky shithead <br />or simply an avian latrine? <br />Is this a heavenly fertilization <br />that will nurture some meaningful growth, <br />some momentous expansion? <br />In which case, <br />is all the shit in my life <br />a forerunner of wisdom, <br />a harbinger in insight, <br />a compost for consciousness? <br /> <br />I have explored, examined, contemplated <br />and concluded <br />that this was a spiritual wake-up call, <br />a celestial reminder <br />that even the unlikeliest event <br />serves <br />to ring the bell of the Dharma. <br /> DUNG!<br /><br />Linda Stitt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/epiphany/
