A September Full Moon to Kick-Off a New Work Week, A Busy Schedule, & A Reminder of What Matters Most

I think I always will stop everything to watch a full moon rise over Charles Island on Walnut Beach. An I-Phone can't capture the exquisiteness of such an occasion, but I have the sight locked in my brain synapsis and I understand the wonder and beauty for what it is. In a photo, it looks like a freckle upon the darkening sky, but in person, it is amazing, overwhelming, and brilliant.

Sunday's #EthicalELA prompt was to have an out-of-body experience, and I went with humor writing about routines one is used to when having a dog...a poem about a pretty crappy subject. And so here it goes.

Shhh. On Adulting.

…it happens, shhh,

I whispered into a Mic

several years ago

while commencing tassels.

I anticipated the emails

about tact & sense of humor - 

but the evidence was very clear.

The fresh bird droppings 

drooped-dry 

across my tuxedo jacket

as I walked into the school.

shhhhh, it happens, 

I told them…

it’s the only advice I can give.

But that was then.

Today is Sunday

& I’m done playing

ring around the toilet bowl 

with a bristled baton - 

the lawn is already mowed.

Karal’s friend spent the night -

a wedding - and the mother- 

of-the-bride needed a dog-sitter,

so I volunteered my home.

They’ve both been fed.

Glamis died unexpectedly in April.

Her stomach was full of puss & blood.

Good dog,

habitual at doing business

on morning and evening walks

so I could become a pro at sanitizing 

the neighborhood 

with plastic bags

and tossing 3-pointers 

in the green, town-sponsored canisters 

I memorized for deposit.

And I’ll be 50 soon.

I’ve been told about the aliens

coming my way to probe my health,

but I’ve spent a life

pondering colons,

semi-colons, and ellipses…

…all the while singing,

I’m halfway there 

with Bon Jovi…

It happens…shhhh. I know.

Karal’s her own dog, though,

prissy & vocally self-conscious.

She thinks she’s on special duty 

and not meant for public business.

She leaves her droppings

across the backyard 

as if it’s a cookie tray.

My sneakers know this well, 

as do flies, grubs, and gnats…

it’s part of Sunday’s plumbing; 

my day for reflecting on empty nests, 

& umbilical chords cut like the grass.

Shhh. It happens.