Tuesday, February 22, 2011


(with apologies to Cole Porter)

Birds do it.
Bees do do it.
Cats and dogs and whelks and worms do it.

I do it after a cuppa in the morning.
Aunt Rose needs prune juice in lieu of laxative.
Bossie the cow takes in 4.5% of her body weight daily
to put out the pounds of crusty rounds we avoid as we
walk through the pasture.

T. Rex used to do it. 
Now fossilized bits of dinosaur shit* sell for $75.00 per piece,
demonstrating that there is always an afterlife.

Jesus did it.  We honor this in a common statement of surprise.

Dusty the clown does it late at night after the rowdy crowd goes home.

He sits quietly with a week old copy of the Times,
a small flask,
and he transubstantiates the sadness of an entire city.
                                          rhonda palmer

(*word for the day: coprolite)