Читать книгу Red Rover Red Rover - Bob Hicok - Страница 16

A nature documentary

Worrying I worry too much,

I try to explain Jell-O to my cats,

who sniff it and walk away,

one to watch a wasp

digging out a hole under a rock beside the shed,

the other to watch the wasp-watching cat

while I eat Jell-O on the porch with my fingers.

Two at first, then my whole hand,

as if orange Jell-O were an actual orange,

not all of it,

just a few slurped chunks from the pan,

after which I join the watching of the wasp,

no longer worrying about worrying, just worrying

and enjoying the relative quiet,

like when the dentist’s drill stops

and I can hear the chainsaw solo

without distraction in the orchestra

of my head.

Curious whether the sky is where I left it,

I lie on my back on the drive and look up;

it’s still there,

though none of the paintings of clouds

are dry.

The white cat comes over quickly

and licks the hair on the side of my head,

as if I’m another cat. I turn my head,

look in his one milky and one green eye,

love that he’s adopted me

and lick his head a few times to show it.

And for about seven seconds

I’m not even worrying, not even

about the cat hair in my mouth, thicker

and more honest than human hair,

the other cat on her way down the drive

to look for frogs to kill

and partially eat or not eat at all,

the white cat already at ease

with himself at all times,

when I start to worry again,

now that I don’t know how lucky I am,

that there’s no unit of measure for gratitude,

as the narrator says, Once again we see the poet

not leaving well enough alone,

starting a fire from water and stones,

when actually I can start a fire

from anything, even an avalanche,

especially a tornado, though most of all

nothing at all.