TSM 181

~ qbit 
You there! blackened gum on the sidewalk –
I consecrate you. A dark host 
for a dark celebrant.
And you, man walking your dog at 6AM –
I bless the parables in your teeth, 
clacking to stay awake.

For at this hour I am the Bishop of everything 
diagonal, 
                   cater-corner,
                                             proximal, 
but never finally touching,
that doesn’t hang together, connect.

Slip sliding away to infinity
I raise my arm in Taxi benediction –
the Blessing of the Fleet 
a checkered yellow –
I am Pope and cornerman to box shrubs 
in my square priory, my tiny park.

A voice pulls at my elbow
from a window far above:
"Take off that silly paper hat!
What are you doing out there!
Act your age just for once,
and get back in here before it rains!"

My mood darkens, whom/what
will I excommunicate
with a wave of my crosier, my
wind-broken twig?
Congregants pass unrepentant
with their strollers and scooters.

How will I bring the morning
its salvation, like an everything bagel
warm in the bag – when it refuses the wine
of my poems, so cross-eyed with gall.
This crucified dawn. This Sunday that slants
to salvation or damnation.

The Sunday Muse

23 thoughts on “TSM 181”

  6. Wow, bless those dog walkers at 6:00 am and that last verse really was amazing. Saving the day with a warm everything bagel. Perhaps, add some cream cheese melting on the surface Would it change the everything in an extra-ordinary experience?

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