what am I doing? who’s out there? where’s my stuff?

I’m moving closer to instinct;

closer to the insect; closer to the snake.

I’m moving closer to Uncle Octavio  

who puts his keys in the icebox.

at the drugstore we find him walking through the aisle

of body fragrances better suited for younger men;

men who want to smell like pine-scented cutouts

hanging from the dashboard. men still on the hunt.

Octavio's smaller than those who believe perfume-scented

gizmos strengthen their chances but his mind says he's bigger.

when your brain is wrong your sense of direction is wrong

and lopsided equilibrium is more clearly defined.

 

as for me? I’m doing well under the circumstances.

this morning I opened the icebox to retrieve Octavio's keys

but surprisingly they were someplace else.

In my opinion that’s a good start to the day ahead

for both of us.