Why Did the Chipmunk Cross the Road?

Why Did the Chipmunk Cross the Road?

A Sunday morning in the Zendo,
Doing his discourse, Roshi asked,
 “This time of year, late August, you see so many,
  They scuttle out, they run back,
  Another scuttles out, and runs back,
  Why do many run across this time of year?”

He didn’t ask me directly,
But I always heard his koans
  As meant for me to know

And he was right,
  Back and forth between Woodstock,
Many times on the road,
  I’d see them run out before the car,
Turn back to the safety of the brush with a squeak,
  Out before the car, back even more quick

And there were so many, every hundred yards
  Another flattened chipmunk pelt, these little tiny rugs,
Some in different positions or attitude,
  A tell-tale red gut splatch by the fresh,
Too often another chipmunk sized spot on the pavement
  One tire circumference down the way,
And on so in succession, fading ghostlike
  Down the lane

Imagine, so small, young, roadside, in the weeds,
  Having crossed the road,
Comes a rumble! Thunder! Loud noise! Wind!
  Storm! A Storm! Got to run home!
Out in the street – Terror!
  Back in the brush – Terror!
And no, we don’t always make it back to the bush,
  Running to safety, meeting death

This was around the time I told him I was leaving,
Roshi asked me, “Where are you going?”
  I answered,
“My Father sold the house, but he’s kept an apartment for my younger brother,
  He’s going back to school in September, I’m going to stay there”