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