Walkabout

Has anyone seen my bounce?

I think it might have gone walkabout.

Maybe the chipmunks stole it

although they seem to have bounce, squirm, and skitter to spare.

Maybe the hummingbirds thought it was nectar to rev up their tiny samurai hearts

as they duel over the pink juice in the feeder.

Maybe the robin that follows me, ever watchful for when I turn over a spadeful of wormy earth,   grabbed my bounce as well, thinking it succulent enough for its nestlings.

Maybe the distant gunshot scared my bounce off like a friend’s dogs scared off Blackie,

the best mouser/munker, bouncy-tailed, head-butting cat ever.

Maybe my bounce got tired of waiting for me to catch up to it,

dragging my feet as I do on the weeks I take chemo.

Maybe my bounce got buried by watching too much news

as we descend further and further into darkness.

But to paraphrase the Mexican proverb used by the Zapatistas,

maybe my bounce is a seed, so being buried would be welcomed.

If you happen to see my walkabout bounce gallivanting around town,

please bounce it back home to me.

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