Cibola 74

This entry is part 73 of 119 in the series Cibola


Esteban (4)

Right at dusk–his quick meal over,
the men settling into a game
of dice played with bones
(whose original owner he decides
not to inquire about) the African hears
what sounds like flute music
trickling down a side canyon
a quarter mile off. A brief phrase
ending in a question mark.
Once more.
Each separated by a slightly longer pause.
The exact blend of exaltation
& sorrow, he thinks–someone
like me.

And no one else pays it
any mind–no one looks up,
there’s not even a twitch
from the dogs’ ears.
They raise their heads only
when he gets to his feet:
Stay. I’m just going to take a leak.

Which might have been true,
had he not caught a glimpse
of a figure darting between shadows
up by the first bend of what,
he guessed, would turn out to be
a cul-de-sac, a box canyon.

(To be continued.)

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave’s writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

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