March 30, Tuesday in Holy Week

The Chihuahua

Here, after 15 years of owning
a small business,
you sit on the stoop
of the rowhouse
on West Patrick Street
and revisit your mistakes.
The employees you never found a home for,
your futile race to catch technology in a bottle,
the big goofs that sucked you dry,
the smaller ones, sticking in your side
like voodoo pins.

Maybe something can be learned
from wading through
the muck of missteps . . .
Ok fool, fool yourself,
slip and shade
through all that jumble.
It takes a sharp brave eye
to look yourself in the past
and then . . .

A cold kiss on your leg.
It's a mangy flea-bitten street Chihuahua!
Is he the Chihuahua of Hope?
The Chihuahua of Lost Causes?
The Chihuahua of Fortune?
He looks at you with his forlorn misty eyes.
Ah! So he is the Chihuahua of Cosmic Understanding!
You pat him on the head.
He licks your wrist.
We all lose and lose don't we?
Thank you, thank you
Chihuahua of Cosmic Understanding.

Job done, the Chihuahua,
like any new hope,
steps bravely into the perilous traffic.
Cars slam on their breaks,
drivers lean on their horns,
as the Chihuahua trots,
unhurried, with dignity,
across the street,
back down his alley,
then slips under
the chain-linked fence
and disappears.

Bernie Jankowski