Billy Collins takes his bird for a walk . . .
Promenade
by: Billy Collins
As much as these erratic clouds keep sweeping
this way and that over the roof
of this blue house bordered by hedges and fruit trees,
and as much as the world continues to run
in all directions with its head in its hands,
there is one particular robin who appears
every morning on a section of lawn
by the front door with such regularity
he could be a lighthouse keeper or a clock maker.
He could be Immanuel Kant were he not so small
and feathered, whom the citizens set their watches by
a he walked through town with his hair curled.
It takes a lot to startle this bird--
only a hand clap will make him rise
to one of the low branches of the nearby apple tree.
So I am wondering if he would allow me
to slip a small collar around his neck
and take him for a walk, first around the house
then later, when more trust has been gained,
into town where we would pass the locals
with their children and orthodox dogs in tow,
and I would hold the robin lightly by a string
as we waited to cross the street, then he would hop
off the curb and off we would go
not caring about what people were saying
even when we stopped at a store front
to admire our strange reflections in the window.
I really don't know what "normal" is. Some people think voting for a convicted felon to be President of the United States is normal. Or appointing a person who was investigated for sex trafficking to be Attorney General. Normal is in the eyes of the beholder.
I am sitting in my living room at the moment. The Christmas tree is glowing in the corner. Everyone else has gone to bed. It's raining, and the trees are gauzed with fog. It's been a day fraught with meetings and grading and teaching. I haven't really had any downtime until now.
All that is normal for me.
So is writing a Bigfoot poem. Putting up Christmas decorations the day after Halloween. Getting up at 5 a.m. to catch the livestreamed announcement of the winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature. Watching the same movie every night for three months straight. Eating warm tapioca pudding.
This weekend, I ran into an acquaintance I hadn't seen in several years. I made an off-handed comment to her about the last couple weeks being particularly difficult for a lot of people. My acquaintance looked genuinely confused. When I mentioned the election, she smiled and said, "I think you and I are on opposite sides on that, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends."
I agree with my acquaintance. I can still be friends with people who hold different political and social ideals. My father was a lifelong Republican and member of the John Birch Society. We couldn't have been more different, and yet we still loved each other. (That doesn't mean we got along 100% of the time. Ours was problematic relationship.)
Here are some other things that SHOULD be normal in the United States: kindness, compassion, acceptance, charity, tolerance, respect, courtesy, equality, love. Unfortunately, over half the people in this "Christian" country think otherwise. Hate has become as normal as grass or snow. One way or the other, you're eventually going to step in it.
Buckle up, disciples. It's gonna be a bumpy four years.
Saint Marty may make drinking a glass of wine every night his new normal.