March 15: Spring Is in the Air, Psalm 7, and Dog Crap

Well, this blog has to be quick and short.  I haven't had a lot of time to be thoughtful, aside from the few minutes I took to compose the following poem.  However, it is March in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and the temperature is in the mid-forties.  I could have walked across campus to teach my class without a coat on.  That's right.  Spring has arrived, at least for the next few days.  It bolsters my spirit and fills me with thoughts of summer.

Anyway, this poem was inspired by the weather of the last few days.  Saint Marty hopes you enjoy it.

Psalm 7:  Praise Hymn for Dog Crap

Praise the smell of dog crap in March,
Fecund as tulip bulbs waiting to sprout,
Patches of mud, pools of snow melt,
The ancient shift toward vernal equinox,
Primal as Louis Leakey's Kenyan digs,
Skulls, bones of Adam's sons and daughters,
Driven out of a place of eternal produce,
Carrot and cuke and scallion and broccoli,
Blueberry, watermelon, banana, kiwi,
But not apple, not that serpent fruit
That sentenced the human race to evolution,
To the hunch of spine to fire, to a spit
Of brontosaur, blackened with smoke and fat,
Chewed with ape teeth to a pulp of protein,
Digested, absorbed, converted to muscle,
Skeleton, tendon, blood, a form suited
To ice age and mammoth hunt, stone
Spear versus saber tooth, the struggle
With bronze, iron, pyramid, pharaoh,
The split of Red Sea, a forty-year Bataan
March in the wilderness, then a land
Of milk and honey, a land of promise,
Filled with the reach of crocus
Through frost, through mud, through snow,
Through dog crap, toward the blessed sun.

Dog Crap Is in the Air