Have you ever tried to ride a horse backwards? Side saddle?


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This is Bomba the baby duck. Similar to Meschoo our pup that I procured after falling in love with the neighbors 2 ducks. Who like the neighbors dog I fell in love with then disappeared suddenly into a cage, onto a plate, back to the cousins where they came from? Mahina the moon dog became a pig dog and was withdrawn to a grown up life and I as predicted after reading up on the subject. Gored. I don’t know if it was the David Crosby lyrics. “Love the one you are with.” Or that insight that taking drugs was like taking out a loan on your life and Crosby would know because he didn’t just say no to credit cards.

I slept through Mahina yelping, but John heard her and made me aware that he had seen her. He’s taken to sleeping in a tent since Sheree was here. Not far from the neighbors property line. John has always enjoyed public squabbles and usually about the grass. I’m against it. HE’S FOR IT. But back to Mahina. He wouldn’t admit to the visual of her bad eye. From 2 yards away I could see red. The half eyeball bloodshot and missing. Maybe the neighbors would finally let me have her. The neighbors who were miraculously disappeared probably to church. It was a weekend morning. How creepy of me right to maintain a working knowledge of their schedules?

This baby duck BOMBA, I’ve tried to forget about giving him up. Although I am happy to remember him smartening up about John and chasing him around the yard. I should have insisted we keep him. John used the word mean that he got mean. Bomba was a darling and fitted into my bath tub in his youth, which wasn’t the most efficient or sanitary method of caring for a duck. None of the other ducks would play with him. He was segregated without any need for a fence. That was how I decided we would adopt him. Amongst all the yellow ducks maybe 100’s poor BOMBA was given a wide berth. I realize this has not been exactly be linear story telling. But this is not the coliseum. 


The Chicks Are Wild

IMG_5012Last week I pried open Meeschoo’s jaw (again how many times I have I done this?) and retrieved a baby chick covered in drool. She trembled terrified that I might eat her. She couldn’t walk but was spright and imprinted quickly. Desperate to be close to her new mother; I kept her in a cage in the living room, feeding her chick starter and cashew cheese. During the day I would call out to her – Little Bird?!! All excited she would respond. I got her a mirror for company and jingle balls meant for cats. At least once a day a walk around the garden holding her close cooing, simultaneously saying NO! to Meschoo who wouldn’t be deterred and jumped along, nipping. Maybe they could learn to coexist? What a capitol companion, Little Bird  tuning into everything before I did. A neon green lizard leaf hopping. She anchored all the breaking news of the garden, neck extended sounding a Theremin peep alarm 1 minute ahead of the rain falling. John spent hours reinforcing a fence with a finer secondary fence around the apple tree whose apple’s taste like roses. With Meeschoo tied up outside, she lived in the sun two days. I warned John she could shimmy up the tree and fly out. It only took minutes on the day 3 she rushed to Meeschoo’s jaws. I heard the commotion and found her again cupped in my hands – LITTLE BIRD I cried. She was contorting and gasping dark lids sealed already. When I think of my work and what it is I really do, I recognize a chicken doula.

In Robert Allerton’s Garden

There’s a tiny stone structure with a Polynesian peak roof. A lookout that they point to from afar. A mystery without benches or seating; the tour bus pulls on. If you ask it’s large enough for four bodies, empty except the walls. A marble Medusa hangs facing a mirror. Not the conundrum trustees would have you think. Robert Allerton understood the need for discretion, when conducting private liaisons. Allerton



My floor is adrift with snow white piles of wadded tissue bindles. Influenza? I couldn’t imagine how or where but then I remembered a detail from my Thanksgiving marketing that all the employees were mysteriously absent. The shelves were bare and I was complaining to the cashier that asked did you find everything you needed? NO I didn’t find anything are you kidding? He said yeah well sorry, we are understaffed. He didn’t mention they were all dead from the flu they got at “Papayas Health Food Store.” That they should have closed or at least posted a skull and cross bones at the threshold WARNING like I’m warning you it’s coming. Enjoy the Christmas papaya boobs from my island to yours. ACHOOOOOO!