1055. CARLISLE THE QUOTIENT MASTER

CARLISLE THE
QUOTIENT MASTER
With five hands he's all over you in an
instant. He wants as much as it gets him;
no matter the reverie or any of that. He'll
take his time to stop when it's over and done.
The cathedral down the street, its bells are ringing.
Loudly traipsing like carrion home to the fray,
small people are walking their way to church.
-
'But why, Dr. Denley, would anyone do that?
I can't fathom the reason for want. And what's
with the cops stopping traffic to let these feeble
ants cross on their way to their church?' The
doctor, a black soul-teacher in a starched white
shirt, said nothing really back, just hummed.
-
I'd heard him sing before - in his own Baptist
church on the hill, about a mile away - 'Shiloh
Heavenly Means Church', or something like that.
Those black-guy churches always have funny names.
-
Call me when it's over - or at least that's how I felt.
I remember a Reverend Wallace McKnight much
like this too - a little man with enormous hands.
Made me wince just to see. Simpleton that he was,
he always said they 'gave him a better grasp on
the rungs of the ladder right up to Heaven.'