My Teeth, My Sewer, HVCA, My Pocketbook

Tying it All Together - Part 6

SYNOPSIS: Parts 1 – 5 slogged through some US history commencing in 1846 and established that in the American psyche there exists a tacit pride for any act committed in the name of the flag, leaving off with NASA’s irrepressible and unabashed revelry for their marksmanship in blasting a hole in an innocent bypassing comet that didn’t belong to them because there was neither law nor moral restraint to prevent them. Part 6 – comments on some noteworthy current events. (Reading time: about a minute, probably less.)


PART 6

“Zeit, Wind, Frau und Glueck
Veraendern sich im Augenblick

(“Time, the wind, women and fortune
Can change in an instant.“)

That proverb was etched on an old beer stein I bought in Munich a long time ago when I was in the army over there. I eventually gave my son the beer stein but the etched proverb remained, etched also onto my mind: (“Time, the wind, women and fortune Can change in an instant. “)

And lemme tell you, things just changed for me, BIG TIME! (Because I didn’t die soon enough.)

Under a program sponsored by the Sewerage Agency of Southern Marin (SASM) which qualified me for financial assistance because I am well below the median income for Marin County, I had my sewer lateral replaced in January 2011. The old one wore out before I died.

Day before yesterday my dentist told me one of the two molars supporting a bridge which has two artificial teeth in between was about to go south (because I haven’t died yet) and, owing to the location and peculiarities of this case the only option for repair is a complete new bridge. And I believe him. Then he told me the price. I believed that too. And that is something to talk about.

There was a time when I was a good fit in Marin County. While employed by the State of California in a civil service classification of Journeyman (I was never Management material) I bought and paid for the modest house where my wife and I still live and where our son lived while he walked every step – for twelve years – to his schooling in the Mill Valley School District. Now, I couldn’t afford my front door knocker because prices are headed for the moon and because everybody and his brother have their fingers in my pockets. And for years Social Security says nothing has changed. To which I say – Humbug.

Herewith, my reasoning: My present Dental Plan is the same and only one my wife and I have ever had, and I don’t know how long that has been but my records go back to December 1991 when, as a point of reference the charge and the benefit for “Adult Cleaning” was $46.00. In December 2010 the charge for the same service, now called “Adult Prophylaxis” was $113.00, PLUS $48.00 for ”Periodic oral evaluation” (which the dentist used to do as part of his service for no extra charge.) That’s a jump from $46.00 to $161.00 for the same identical procedure, or roughly 350%, an acceleration rate of about 18% a year, inexorably and forever.

If anyone wants to argue about that, be prepared for a cascade of numbers to be thrown at you with all the enthusiasm of NASA in their favorite pastime of blasting comets.

Now – to put the current replacement cost of my dental bridge in perspective: it (the cost quoted to me) is equivalent to four times the cost of the first NEW automobile I ever purchased, in 1960. Four teeth in 2011 are worth the same as four new automobiles in 1960. (Yes, yes, I know all about apples and oranges.)

And dyspepsia, too.

For which I should offer HVCA my most groveling and humble thanks for the object lesson of passing Measure A before the axe fell. They – not I – are insured a rising income – out of my pockets – clean through eternity, no matter what.

To be continued.

NEWS FLASH ! ! - (Good News? - Bad News? - You decide.)

Tying it All Together - Part 5 - "From NASA to Homestead Valley"
(Reading time: couple seconds)

The other day (Valentines Day – February 14, 2011) the San Francisco Chronicle, on page A9, informed us a NASA spacecraft named Stardust was scheduled to, “meet up with its celestial sweetheart – a comet half the size of Manhattan that had an encounter with another spacecraft not long ago.” The article goes on to recall Tempel 1 (the comet referenced in the article) with these words: “In 2005, Tempel 1 received a not-so-loving visit from another NASA probe named Deep Impact, which fired a copper bullet into the comet on the Fourth of July that sparked cosmic fireworks.”

Whoa, Nellie! Hold it right THERE !

The 4th of July 2005, NASA’s reaction (on international television!) upon receiving the news that their long planned and perfectly executed “Deep Impact “ project had just blasted a hole in a by-passing comet – the Tempel 1 – was unrestrained childlike glee! The whole bulging roomful of NASA people were whooping it up like the home team had just scored!

BUT – they were celebrating – their marksmanship! at having blasted a hole in a bypassing comet, which DIDN’T BELONG TO THEM.

Just to see what is inside.

I take exception to NASA’s revolting conduct and to their whole revolting project. By whose authority does NASA presume to destroy stuff that doesn’t belong to them?

Consider this, please: To take something that doesn’t belong to you, simply because you find it appealing, and have your way with it – is the philosophy and the practice of the Thief, the Pickpocket and the Rapist – the same philosophy and practice which put the American Indians (what was left of them) on reservations because someone else coveted their land and the wealth, actual and potential, it contained.

When my thinking apparatus is engaged and directed toward Homestead Valley, scratching my chin and wondering “Hmmm,” naturally follow.

NEWS FLASH ! ! – (Good News? – Bad News? – You decide.)


To be continued.

Tying it All Together - Part 4 - Friends in High Places? Let me tell YOU!

Tying it All Together - Part 4
Friends in High Places? (Let me tell YOU about it!)

SYNOPSIS: Parts 1, 2 & 3 brought us from Mainstream America’s kneejerk intolerance with American Indians all the way to torching the historic old Cloverdale Depot in 1991, a spectacular conflagration that also took with it the plans and toil for a monument in Cloverdale to the local Pomo Indians, which would have been on the site where the Cloverdale “multi-modal transportation center” now stands, having picked up a few officials of the County of Marin and the City of Mill Valley along the way, and connected all of that with the Evergreen Avenue sidewalk affair in Homestead.

This episode, Part 4, is not much more than a loser’s lament, but it hopes to open a few eyes to what goes on while we are playing canasta or out walking the dog or just gazing at the moon.

PART 4

“There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold…” Robert W. Service

(Parenthetical remarks: A few weeks ago, late in January, 2011, I sent a courtesy email to Supervisor Steve Kinsey which included as attachments three letters I planned to mention on this blog sometime, so he wouldn’t be blindsided by any references to them here:

1- Congresswoman Lynn Woolsey to me, dated February 17, 1997 re: FHWA
2- Thomas Ptak, FHWA to Lynn Woolsey, dated January 27, 1997 (3 weeks earlier.)
3- Me to David H. Densmore, FHWA, dated February 19, 1997 - End of parenthetical remarks.)

However, there is a FOURTH letter worth noting which I did NOT send him and which I will only introduce here by reference, but I sent copies of it to some of my Homestead neighbors just to establish it as a fact that exists. It addresses “this matter,” which is the historic Cloverdale depot that burned, and a lot more.

Expressing it as kindly as possible, it is the explanation by the FHWA Division Administrator in Sacramento of events subsequent to the fire that destroyed the historic Cloverdale depot. Expressing it from my heart, though, it is FHWA's triumphal fanfare of what happened: such a sublime construction of gobbledygook that it will stand for generations as a high water mark of bureaucratic achievement. The signature is illegible, but the letter writer’s superiors in Washington, D.C. revealed his identity. Poor fellow, he was only a victim of the fray who signed on behalf his superiors, and thus is entitled to his anonymity. His superiors, on the other hand and the politicians, who for their own righteous reasons sanctified “this matter,” are entitled to such judgment as history may accord to them.

Now – Your CLOSE ATTENTION, please.

My Congressional Representative, Lynn Woolsey, (letter number 1, above) opened with these words: “Dear Mr. Cook: I am sorry to tell you that the Federal Highway Administration has advised me that it was unable to take the action you requested. Enclosed please find a copy of the agency’s response.” Several polite personal paragraphs followed, then her signature.

Well, the “agency’s response” (letter number 2, above) was a letter to her (Ms. Woolsey) signed on behalf of FHWA, Washington, D.C., by Thomas J. Ptak, telling her to tell me (figuratively, of course) to take a hike, but (actually, of course) telling her to tell me to go bother the FHWA Division Administrator in Sacramento, because he (the Division Administrator in Sacramento) had already told me (according to Mr. Ptak) that, “CHANGES IN CIRCUMSTANCES(Caps mine-for emphasis. RC) since approval of the Final Environmental Impact Statement for the bypass made the intended use of the archaeological site no longer applicable.”

Then, I suppose, Mr. Ptak and his buddies had a good laugh (hah hah hah, slap slap haw haw haw) watching me chase my tail, because the Division Administrator in Sacramento had already said all of that – and a lot more – in a letter to me seven months earlier (letter number 4, above.) Which had provoked me to write Ms. Woolsey in the first place! Hah, hah hah, slap slap haw haw haw.

BUT … … … I didn’t go chasing my tail.

I just wrote the Division Administrator in Sacramento, a guy named David H. Densmore, and admitted that he had won the battle for the Pomo Indian Monument in Cloverdale. (What else could I do? HIS Friends in High Places were more numerous and more powerful than MINE, namely, Lynn Woolsey, My Congressional Representative.)

He had beat me, yes, in the contest for the Pomo memorial. (But, “fair and square?”)

You’re probably wondering what all this has to do with the Evergreen Avenue project? Stick around for Part 5: Tying it All Together/Friends in High Places/Evergreen Avenue Project

To be continued.

Tying it All Together - Part 3 Friends in High Places? (TELL me about it!)

Tying it All Together - Part 3
Friends in High Places? (TELL me about it!)

SYNOPSIS: Parts 1 & 2 brought us through Mainstream America’s aversion to American Indians, and linked the Marin County Board of Supervisors to the Pomo Indians in Cloverdale and the memorial to them that was lost when a suspicious fire destroyed the historic Cloverdale depot in 1991.

This episode, Part 3, lays out my belief that the fire was truly arson and that an ominous link exists between the Cloverdale affair and the Evergreen Avenue sidewalk project in Homestead Valley because the Disciples of Progress are in charge, and while not obvious, a real and potentially volatile situation is rushing upon us with momentum and freewheeling energy that has built up over many miles of clear and unobstructed track, with nary a thought of cooperation or negotiation and certainly no inclination to brook any changes now. With the Cloverdale affair as a precedent, a kneejerk reaction will soon be invoked to pull a few strings and zingo – it’s done!

Part 3
Several weeks ago the Mill Valley Patch, an online news medium at “http://millvalley.patch.com,” published a feature entitled, “Where am I?” It was a photo of a bronze plaque embedded in the sidewalk near 48 Locust Avenue, (which is behind the Miller Avenue 7-11) which memorializes “Marino,” the Miwok Indian for whom Marin County is named. By their approval of this memorial plaque the Mill Valley City Council is now linked to the Cloverdale affair, at least spiritually, and it would take a pretty feeble imagination to wonder how or why.

Before the fire, in the autumn of 1991, the City of Cloverdale was negotiating with Caltrans to acquire a lot the State owned on Main Street in Cloverdale, between Third Street and Fourth Street, (which the State eventually deeded to the Cloverdale Community Development Agency.) One day my office telephone rang in San Francisco. The caller was an eminent political figure in the City of Cloverdale and wanted to talk about the lot on Main Street. After an interval of official talk about the lot on Main Street, the conversation drifted to the historic Depot, which Caltrans was soon supposed to relocate. Before long this person says, "Cook, if that depot ever catches fire, the fire trucks will never make it on time. I guarantee you that."

They didn’t.

And that is why MY kneejerk reaction is to suspect trouble if anyone should interfere with the published plans for Evergreen Avenue, and my kneejerk fear is that those who will suffer most are the County staff who are caught in the pincers between their consciences and their superiors and politicians who hold a good measure of dominion over their lives. The Disciples of Progress operate like the law of gravity: “without rancor but without pity.” They just get up every day and do their thing: more, more, more, more, more, more, more, more… ad infinitum. I operate on the assumption that most public officials are either themselves Disciples of Progress, or sympathetic to the “more, more, more “ credo of the Disciples of Progress, or fear for the disposition of their souls at Judgment time if they should question the Disciples of Progress.

I am concerned about the few who may have the wisdom and the courage to ask, “Why are we doing this?” and run for the vomitory when they hear the answer.

Friends in high places? TELL me about it.

To be continued.

Tying it all Together - Part 2: The Cloverdale Depot and the Marin County Board of Supervisors

The Cloverdale Depot and the Marin County Board of Supervisors
Tying it all together - Part 2
(click here for part 1) 

More really interesting stuff!

SYNOPSIS: Part 1 introduced this blog’s theme of, “Friends in High Places,” and then, in succession:
1- “Mainstream America;”
2- a snippet of California history;
3- the modern Pomo Indians in Cloverdale, Sonoma county, California, one of whom got evicted for a freeway and was denied relocation assistance for reasons that astonished me.

Part 2, (this episode) covers the consequences of that singularly revolting event and hopes to create at the very least a small measure of shame in the minds of some of our more enlightened public officials. If Providence is on our side, we can then look to the future with a little less pessimism and, who knows, perhaps even a ray of hope?

Reading time, about 4 minutes.
P.S. Everything I say here is documented in the Reference Department of the Sonoma County Library in Santa Rosa.

***

The final scene in Part 1 had been the Cloverdale Rancheria in the weeks preceding the Fourth of July, 1976, our country’s bicentennial. The woman in question was a Pomo Indian – rather short, rather robust, rather dark skinned, rather advanced in years – and utterly forlorn. She knew why I had come. I handed her the “3 Day Notice to Pay or Quit.” She vacated the premises, July 4, 1976, still owing the State a little less than $200 back rent.

Here it is essential to establish the context in which these events unfolded. A new freeway in Cloverdale had been in the hoping and planning stages for a long time before it was finally built, but Caltrans began acquiring the right of way in the 1960’s. In 1990, the Federal Highway Administration (FHWA) authorized construction this new section of freeway, about four and half miles long. Construction began in 1991 and the freeway opened in1994 with a grand public ceremony celebrating this pageant of progress, “The Cloverdale Bypass.”

Brace yourselves now, for what is to follow.

The historic Cloverdale depot was built in 1872, the year Cloverdale was incorporated. It was a one story, wood frame building, shingle roof, two large rooms, about 2300 square feet. Pure redwood throughout. It was the community's center of commerce for a hundred years, a status proudly recorded in historic old photographs. Cloverdale was a “destination.” But with the march of time things change, and eventually the railroad turned the Cloverdale depot mostly to storage.

In 1976, as a Bicentennial Project, a group of local citizens rose excitedly to the occasion by forming a non-profit corporation under the name, "Cloverdale Depot Association," which entered the venerable structure in the National Register of Historic Places. But it was in the path of the long planned and still unbuilt freeway, and the Federal Highway Administration (FHWA), which had final authority over the Cloverdale Bypass, as a condition of its approval for the project required Caltrans to relocate the old Cloverdale depot to another site (the site where the present Cloverdale depot stands today) and to convey the land to the Depot Association at a nominal cost. The Depot Association and Caltrans shook hands and went to work.

But in some quarters a fear arose that the freeway, which they had been expecting for such a long time might be thrown off schedule by this belated turn of events. The Depot Association in return made public assurances that their project to move the old Depot would not delay the freeway at all, in any way.

The Cloverdale Depot Association’s goal was to move the historic depot away from the freeway and to preserve it for the benefit of Cloverdale’s citizens and for future generations. The Cloverdale Chamber of Commerce, the Cloverdale Historical Society and the Cloverdale Art Commission were to share space in the restored depot.

The Association's architect drew plans of the new site, meetings were held, commitments made. The surviving elders of the Cloverdale Rancheria became an honorary Native American Advisory Panel for a monument on the site to the Pomo Indians, memorializing “Musulacon,” their ancestral chief for whom the 1846 Mexican land grant, “Rincon de Musulacon,”is named, upon which most of the city of Cloverdale stands today. A model of the site was prominently displayed in the office windows of the local newspaper, the Cloverdale Reveille. The Native American Heritage Commission, a State agency in Sacramento, passed a resolution of endorsement and notified the Cloverdale Depot Association, the Cloverdale Historical Society and the Sonoma County Board of Supervisors of their action. Rose colored glasses made this an exuberant scene, but myopia obscured the reality. In the dead of night on Saturday, September 21, 1991, the old depot - vacant, humble, awaiting its rebirth – burned to the ground in suspicious circumstances. The Cloverdale Reveille suspected arson.

Readers of this blog are urged to pay particular attention to the next paragraph, because it is critical to understanding what’s going on here.

In 1973, during preliminary field studies for the freeway, a previously unknown archaeological site was found on the land where the Historical Cloverdale depot was to be relocated (where the present Cloverdale depot now stands) and recorded in the State’s inventory of archaeological sites, which was not sufficiently important to be recorded in the NATIONAL Register of archaeological sites. Nevertheless, the Environmental Impact Study (EIS) approved by FHWA unequivocally provided that the portion of the land containing the archaeological site will have only passive uses such as picnic tables and grass lawns for the visitors to the depot. No subsurface activity was permitted, including the laying of utility lines and paving. (Remember the Pomo monument?)

The deed to the property was recorded with seven easements - under the ground, on the ground, above the ground - To Pacific Bell, Pacific Gas and Electric Company, Viacom Cablevision, Southern Pacific Transportation Company, City of Cloverdale and the State of California. Not a whisper about an archaeological site. You can check that for yourself at the Recorder’s Office in Santa Rosa.

Re-enter now, The Railroad.

Parallel to the plans for the freeway were plans in the political arena to revitalize railroad service in Northwestern California. The North Coast Railroad Authority (NCRA) was created by the California Legislature in 1989. The present Cloverdale depot, a “multi-modal” transportation facility, now occupies the site in Cloverdale which had been reserved for the historic depot. And through all its interlocking memberships in public agencies (like SMART, the Sonoma–Marin Rail Transit District, and GGBHTD, the Golden Gate Bridge Highway and Transportation District) our own Marin County Board of Supervisors is inextricably bound to the Rincon de Musulacon. History is breathing hot on their necks.

To be continued –

Tying it All Together (First in a Series)

SYNOPSIS (in case you’re in a hurry)
I’m old and looking back on a lifetime of events, some of which are worth a few comments in public. More than anything else, this series is about, “Friends in High Places.” No matter where the comments may go, they will always be tied with a long tether to home – as in “Homestead.” This initial episode briefly concerns California history, some of it early background history, some of it fairly recent history, not all of it pleasant, known only to the privileged few who lived it. End of Synopsis. (Reading time for the rest: less than 3 minutes, if you have the time.)
***

***
Rather than, “Celebrate the Fourth of July,” I, “Contemplate the Fourth of July,” because two Fourths of July nearly thirty years apart have worked to change my mind radically about the image of the United States of America as it was taught to me in school. Only one of them, though, the Fourth of July, 1976, will be enough to give you a good case of the hives, so for the time being we will just ignore the other one. Its time will come, in due course.

The Fourth of July 4, 1976, (our nation’s bicentennial holiday, recall?), is the date an old woman packed up and left a dilapidated shanty she had called home, because in the name of the People of the United States of America I had served her a “3 Day Notice to Pay or Quit.” She was in arrears in her rental payments (of $60 per month) and my boss had given me instructions – firm and unequivocal in the quaint vernacular of our profession, to “Kick her out!” He meant it, and I did it.

This was “Mainstream America.” Our business was business, and business is business. Only this time, an unexpected glitch entered the scene, sort of like your computer crashing without warning.

It was not just, “business as usual.” For me, at least. The old woman was an Indian (a “Native American,” in correct-speak) and I lost an impassioned battle on her behalf for money that was duly hers, a relocation payment of several thousand dollars, which was denied her because, in the words of Mainstream America, she was “a goddamn Indian,” and for no other reason. (I beg your pardon. I retract that. It was also because, “It was the white man who came along to develop this country, not the goddamned Indians, and don’t you forget it!” My job was on the line and Mainstream America had me by the you know whats.

But – (breathing deeply, now) – my conscience eventually got the better of me, and thirteen years later, and thanks to Saint Patrick – (more of that later) – she received the several thousand dollars she was entitled to, plus interest, which more than tripled the original sum. If ever you drive up US highway 101 through Sonoma County, your tires will hum happily right over the spot where it all began.

And if you read on a little further you’ll learn how the Marin County Board of Supervisors are tied to the whole shebang, and perhaps you, too, will begin to wonder whether – or perhaps even how – Marin Horizon School managed to creep uninvited into our living room while we were outside watering the garden, then plop itself onto our best sofa, put its feet up on the coffee table and start complaining about the room service.

As unlikely as it may seem, there is no beginning to this tale. Except perhaps the Big Bang. So we must plunge into it somewhere, and I have chosen the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848, by which Mexico ceded much of its territory, including California, to the United States after a war. Two years later California was admitted to statehood. Of particular note here is the historic fact that upon achieving statehood in 1850 California became heir to private land grants made by preceding governments, namely by Spain and Mexico.

When I came onto the scene in 1976 with my “3 Day Notice to Pay or Quit” I was dealing with a tenant on a piece of property which when Columbus discovered America was the homeland of the Pomo Indians, a peaceable tribe that occupied an area extending roughly from Santa Rosa in Sonoma County to Ukiah in Mendocino County, and from the Pacific Ocean to Clear Lake. The ancestors of the woman whom I was about to serve with a “3 Day Notice to Pay or Quit” were here, happily conducting their affairs when an interloper from overseas “discovered” them. Knock, knock. “Get the hell out, lady, you’re on State property now, and you ain’t paying the rent fast enough.” I was standing in the middle of an Indian reservation, from which the State of California had acquired a couple acres for a freeway. And freeways, as we all know are fundamental to our commerce. And as we all know from our history books, and as Mainstream America had just reminded me, the goddamn Indians are in the way of it.

Here the plot thickens, as I must now introduce another inescapable historic fact: this particular Indian reservation was in Cloverdale, a small city on US 101 in northern Sonoma County, and it – the Indian reservation (the Cloverdale Rancheria) – and most of the city of Cloverdale are on one of the Mexican land grants that California inherited in 1850, the “Rincon de Musulacon.” A friend who speaks Spanish well enough to know, informed me that ‘Rincon de Musulacon’ translates roughly to “Musulacon’s Corners.” History informs us that Musulacon was an important early nineteenth century Pomo Chief. So here stands Ray Cook at the front door of a descendant of Musulacon, who herself is the sister of the tribe’s current chief, whose house is right next door, and Ray Cook is telling her to get the hell out!

To be continued. (click here for part 2)

MHS: Why or Why Not?

MHS: Why or why not?

Today is one of those days when thoughts of Marin Horizon School bring on
heart palpitations and trembles in my knees. Providence, it seems, is
advising me to move on to something else.

To resume then where I left off last time – with the old Santos place
across the street:

After his brother Tony died, George Santos used to let a few people stay
on the place from time to time under some kind of informal tenancy
agreement – an itinerant artist, a wannabe hippie and the like. One of my
son's high school friends even built himself a small shed and lived in it
for a while with his girl friend.

As demolition was in progress in I snuck over once and rummaged around
when nobody was looking to see if I might come across something worth
saving. But the guys with the bull dozers and dump trucks were models of
efficiency and the only thing I came away with was two quarts of canned
fruit and a couple sheets of binder paper with hand writing signed by
someone with a really queer name. It was some kind of poem or something,
which I managed to write down with my father's old Olympia portable
typewriter when I still had it. The paper was sort of damp and hard to
read and eventually just turned to dust, but I think I got it all, which
for your reading pleasure I transcribe here:

"Beemer, Beeper, Lahtay and Away"

A Tragic Little Tale

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

SCIURUS CAROLINENSIS, gray squirrel
CORVUS BRACHYRHYNCHOS, common crow
CATHARTES AURA, turkey vulture
HUMANESCUS INFERNALIS, unknown automobile operator

Canto Primo

Hark thee, Squirrel, 'tis a dangersome course there thou dost tread. 'T
were far wiser in the bower o'erhead thy commerce to pursue.
But thou art earthward drawn by some rare curiosity
which to thy sad undoing doth portend.

In holy innocence thou knowest not and cannot know
the peril of thy place there on the asphalt way
which Humanescus Infernalis is not wont to share
with thee.

Squirrel, I would advise thee not to linger so
there in thy wonderment or indecision which to do.
Humanescus Infernalis has aught for thee.
Beyond beeper, Beemer, and lahtay, horizons vanish
into bottom lines, and vanish doth thy presence too.
CAUTION Squirrel! Take thee care!

Alas. Too late, didst thou
the coursing Beemer fear.

Some seconds pass
while thou thy folly didst
with harmless twitches, tics
protest.
In vain.

Thou liest there in grotesque grace
now silent
in posture so unnatural for thee,
or me.
Thy whiteside belly heavenward
in ignominious display,

of one more road kill.

Canto Secondo

Comes now the crow,
alone, this one
to attend thee there,
upon His invitation who presides
our mortal coil.

Macabre scene.
In ebon pace and hop the crow
surveys thy lot, 'til lo!
assured by unrequited feints
thy silence is eterne,
a flash of beak of deepest jet
an eye plucks from your face
presented there in helpless death.
And for dessert? The other!

A shadow looms from far above,
much larger than the crow.
Yon from soaring heaven loft
a dirge plumed vulture
drops to earth, in ballerina grace.

The crow resigns in butlered dignity
its carrion advantage to this earnest laborer,
unmanner'd and intent upon
his Providential due.

Talon, beak, unfeathered neck.
A suit for this repast as fine
as Queen's own knives and linen.
Sir Vulture in his way gives thanks,
And tears apart thee, Squirrel.

Hark THEE vulture, danger nears!
An SUV this time.

All courses nearly done, the slate gray bird
on mighty wings takes hasty flight.
An ort in final desperation snatched from
hemotose remains trails Vulture's s w o o p i n g path.

Four feet of squirrel gut, pink and moist in morning sun.

Beemer, beeper, lahtay and a - w - a - a - a - y - y - y !

/signed/ Domarny Arbisi

Gotta go now. Wifey is ringing the dinner bell!