Veterinarian By James Moran

The pyramids, golden like the monkeys racing up them, like her blouse as she watches the race, standing golden like the sun and the sand as I watch her. I only glance at the race; mostly I observe her. The higher the monkeys go, the more her hope plummets. The higher the monkeys go the more serious the injury should one slip. The more serious the injury the less likely her veterinary talents will make any difference. She fidgets and glances about like she’s chained where she stands, like she needs to place her anger somewhere for being so chained. I squint. The monkeys reach the top. There they wrap their arms around food that their overexerted bodies are not yet ready to ingest. Someone has won. Money is changing hands. A boring race. No monkey was hurt. Even so, she will be compensated for her attendance. Staring at the peak of the pyramid, she has become terribly still. I am reminded of the stillness that always preceded my mother’s fury. Things are about to get very interesting.

© 2013 James Moran

James Moran is an astrologer and writer living in the San Francisco Bay Area.

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