Tales of an Idiot
by Notty Bumbo, 2015
Years back during my long walkabout
I camped in a rainforest for several weeks
Living a damp recline.
Days of water pummeling the thin fabric,
My thinner skull beginning to flow
As the multitudinous rivulets
Joining and re-joining and widening
Into streaming churning hoping-to-be rivers,
I had plenty of time to wonder
The point of nearly everything.
From the mundane patter of droplets
Into massive outpourings of grief and thunder,
I began to feel mossy and opalescent,
The light of morning unable to differentiate
Whether I was awake or lost in Nemo's slumbering dreams.
It was there in that sodden lack of romance
I came to see the futility of ego,
Finally to laugh at all my folly,
Seeing even the birds sought dryer climates.
But I was young and full of beans,
As my Grandfather liked to say,
And finally came to know what he meant
When one morning I awoke to the sound of some creature,
Chattering endlessly on the other side of the tent,
And the slightest hint of sunlight
Trying to push its way through my illusions.
When I looked out at the soggy chipmunk
Screaming his obscenities at me with short outrage,
I finally realized I was proving only
That one can perish
At their own lack of vision.
After everything had dried enough to pack,
I left for places south and dry,
Less sure of finding anything more
Than dry socks, a warm meal,
And maybe just a little common sense.
Though that last hope
Took a bit longer than I would have liked.