3213. MAGNIFICENCE

MAGNIFICENCE

Ever since the water fled, the iceman cometh
and the dark of a November sky was found
clutching my name, I thought enough and more
about you. Feathers fell from some hawkish
height, floating distantly only to land away.
In red pajamas or blue bandannas it never
seemed to matter - the same harmonica
guy always had you in his pocket. I wondered
about a hundred things at once, but mostly -
just today - watching those house-dress ladies
enter a 6:45 mass from across the street, I
wondered why. Incredible. They do this every
morning : parking their fabled cars like Midas
at the ends of the lot, they walk their gossipy
way across the pavement to huddle as they
enter the church. For what, my God, for what;
and is that even a question? What strep-throat
faith could this allegiance be? These women have
nothing other? I find it all so sad. Death and
resurrection, were it to mean anything at all
to them, would still have to have rules and
regulations attached. All the strictest
nomenclature to keep them in
their places, their archly
paradisaical places.