It occurred to me in San Francisco
how likely we are to die. A pocket full
of posies was once 1 in 3. A pocket full
of posies will increase the likelihood
of being stung to death by bees, wasps
and hornets, which begins at 1 in 71,000
Sharp objects is 1 in 32,000. Getting old
is just 1 of those things, yet we swat at it
like a cloud of insects
        Walking home we see an old man
moving way too quickly with his cane
In his other hand a knife – he stabs through
the roof of a T-Top convertible and rips
apart the upholstery, turns around to
follow us down the street. Death from
dog bite is 1 in 122,000. Lightning
about the same. We walk in the same
direction, an unaltered pace, acting natural?
Across the street, a well-lit basketball court
two women keep the ball away from a
group of Japanese businessmen. Bums
watch the game through chain-link
savoring a six-pack. The man with the cane
or is it the man with the knife comes
half-jogging past us, around the corner and
into a night of someone else’s keeping
It’s hard to tell if we were sleeping, or
just practicing. We hold out our hands
count our fingers. For every blade of death

an acre of life