Chance

by Nancy Bodily

That time we were in lab
all 30 of us skinning our cats
and coming to terms with their mortality
and our burden
formaldehyde dripping from our clothes
and spirits
then we opened the door
to find a celebration
complete with hors d’oeuvres, wine
and a cat on a leash sitting in the lap of an artist
whose work was a pinion root
formed in the curve of a woman
deep in the throes of an orgasm

that time seemed too much of a coincidence

or the time I fucked Jim Morrison
in a dream
house in my hometown
and I could smell him all muley and sweet
and taste his essence in the veggie/feta omelet
I swallowed eagerly that morning
while studying and listening to
"love you two time babe"
as it blasted from hidden speakers
in the always quiet cafeteria

that time seemed too much of a coincidence

bombarded now by pithy playground language
of parents planning a mom’s group
where they can drink warm milk with their babies
and talk about the weather
while I’m sitting here on this picnic table
jonesing for flamenco and a shot of tequila

and that time, coincidence gave way to every day