Feb 18, 2019
Monday, April 15, 2019
Feb 18, 2019
There's shit on my shoes;
cat shit, dog shit, I hope that's all shit.
Every step I take I risk stepping in shit:
Is this not life? There's nothing wrong with shit.
Like bugs, we need shit, desperately
to nourish with its stink the most unlikely growth.
This poo is for you, it says, as I wipe it off my shoe
foolishly trying to keep it from my hands, then washing
again and again. How often in a day do I inwardly exclaim,
"Shit!"? More than I would admit. My mind is full of bricks, pies and purges.
Cats, dogs, owls, horses, all shit. People shit,
the universe shits on these very shoes
which I try so hard to keep clean. Many are obsessed
with the microscopic haunt of e.coli. I don't bother to say
"Relax, we intermix with e.coli and far worse
every day. We are sturdy,
knocking off shits bugs right and left, undaunted
by the invisible spores of imagination". Instead I give this benediction:
"You must be crazy in whatever way you want."
Not every disease is preventable, nor is every affliction brought on board
by the shit on our shoes. When you stroke the cat, the dog, the horse
your hands investigate bacteria, resist infection.
After all, shit is the most common thing in the world.
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