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Dog Poo1

I had no idea when I boarded
the bus that I had stepped in it.

It was the first day of school, or
so it seemed, myself off on my
first bus to town from my
mountain writer’s paradise in
San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato
Mexico, place of story, desert
and an indigenous way of life
caught in the headlights of Europe’s
historic, often perverse advance.

There I was, not alone, but
with the dueña of my house,
she the mom, overseeing
transfer of her child from home
to bus to school.

We were both eager to see
this bus from rural Jalpa past
our compound toward the Centro,
and sure enough after a while,
the Route 15 bus rumbled along,
but not until a time waiting
and conversing.

In that time I did notice a
tremendously large dog dropping.
Big and steamy, to my left—no
problem, and not a surprise with
all the dogs around that area.

No matter, here’s my bus!  There,
at last, some independence,
to learn the bus system important
living in so remote a place while
I wrote my book about white
people stealing native lands.

“Hola, buenos días!!” smiling was
I, ear to ear, after shaking hands with
the dueña—we had figured out the
bus and I was bound for town!

I gave the driver my twenty
peso bill, and he gave me my
four pesos change, and I smiled
and wished all the passengers
a good day, and all was super-duper
happy and contento…

Then I smelled something, around
the time the driver halted and
peeled off the road at a high rate.

Dog poop had infiltrated the bus,
and I looked down the lane I’d
walked to my seat, saw marks of
horror, looked at my right shoe,
and sure enough—

I had tracked in the poo of
some large dog on my first
exciting bus ride into town,
San Miguel de Allende, 2019,

God help us it was a perfect
bummer.  Looking back, I may
have stepped in it at the very
moment I shook my dueña’s
hand, congratulating myself
on figuring out the bus schedule
at last.

Reminds me of something my
dad would have said:

“If the deck is not clear, do not
bother sailing,” or more succinctly—

“Safety First,” or more to the
point of my story, look where
you are going, check for dog
poop, be humble.

I stepped in it, spread it to
the bus, like Europeans spread
disease, alcoholism, and curse
words to the “New World.”

Oh, and a bible.  And guns—a
mixed bag, while European
graves of our forefathers fall
apart, untended.

We forgot to love the land and
honor our fathers, sailed
across an ocean and stole land.

On it today I walked, and stepped
in poop—these facts unrelated,
unless you’re one to relate