I didn't meet the Buddha on the way to the market.
I met a beetle dying on the sidewalk at McDonald's.
It was lying on its back,
Kicking its feet helplessly
And wallowing in the suds
Of the very detergent
That had been used to try and wash the grimy walkway.
I saw a little bird hop up and look at the bug,
But the bird could smell the surfactant that covered the beetle
And knew better than to eat it.
The bird hopped back away from the temptation and looked at it long and hard
With his beady eye
Before he flew.
I sat on the other side of the glass,
Drinking my tea like a shard of excommunicated Mongolian glass,
And decided that maybe I had met the Buddha, after all.
And so I stepped on the bug on my way back to my car
And put him out of his misery.
I'm on a roll.
Who wants to be next?

-jenn