Saturday in CinCity
ahhhhhh, it's so heavenly to be away from sick people. To not be spat upon and have to wrestle a quite muscular 29 year-old simply to change the dressings on his not insignificant road rash obtained from a motorcycle collision. Without a helmet. But, with alcohol.
There are a few lovely things going on this weekend, but I think there might be people at these events and I'm tired of seeing people. I wish someone would invent 3-D glasses for that.
by Billy Collins
The way the dog trots out the front door
without a hat or an umbrella,
without any money
or the keys to her dog house
never fails to fill the saucer of my heart
with milky admiration.
Who provides a finer example
of a life without encumbrance—
Thoreau in his curtainless hut
with a single plate, a single spoon?
Ghandi with his staff and his holy diapers?
Off she goes into the material world
with nothing but her brown coat
and her modest blue collar,
following only her wet nose,
the twin portals of her steady breathing,
followed only by the plume of her tail.
If only she did not shove the cat aside
and eat all his food
what a model of self-containment she would be,
what a paragon of earthly detachment.
If only she were not so eager
for a rub behind the ears,
so acrobatic in her welcomes,
if only I were not her god.