Doing my best imitation of the psychic hotline, I named the latest stray I found at Melton Hill Lake “Gilligan” a mere two days before Bob Denver went off to that deserted island in the sky.
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Author: Bob Benz
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I was a pair of ragged claws
Each evening while I was in Mexico, I would drift down to the rocks beside the sea to smoke a cigar and watch the tide rise while the sun faded.
So I’m sitting by the pool in Cabo San Lucas, reading Gary Snyder’s latest collection of poems, “Danger on the Peaks.”