that eventually
a burro would wander
into the house-high
weeds
sloping south of my veranda
& stay a day
or a season
He would be grizzled
He would be mottled
He
would be uglier than a parent’s worry of ugly
But I would edge toward him
with commiserative water
&
a fist of bread
hoping satiety was quick with
burros
yet knowing in my own burro
heart
how hard they are to reverse
these never-horses
these donkeys
these asses
these brunts of unimaginable
burden
I knew
he would never have known
such an easy time
as lolling in my green whip
there against the stone wall
certainly cooler
& more soothing
than his usual days
not a pallet of bricks
not a load of hay
nor a single-minded tender
lashing sacks of seed corn
or lumber
to his scrawny belligerence
Of course
there would be an occasional dog
a real yipper I’d bet
trying to rout him
& lizards & garden
snakes
conniving under foot
but such would hardly
register
&
yes he would bray
inopportunely
& discharge sputum
&
rut
& pool the ground with a god-awful
ammonia
but that would settle
into acknowledged routine
& then
he would be there
just where I needed him
down below the potted plants
below the sedum
the gordolobo
the shaggy eucalyptus