1.
You should’ve seen them—
five of the twelve disciples, pre-supper, comparing,—
Well, more bragging than comparing—
The number and severity of their gaping wounds.
And the Sea of Galilee—
how it held the moon hostage—
Birthplace of the term, “blinding.”
2.
Yesterday’s prompt from the banyan trees
to welcome suffering, lean
Into it, dance with it, even, pales, I’m sorry,
To the impulse to have sex with
An entire block of Vermont extra-sharp cheddar.
Who needs a gallbladder anyway to breathe,
Or to feed and change one’s aging father,
Much less read Merwin or Vallejo
To the faceless dealing fentanyl
By the pound to the trembling downtown,
In the arroyos, the school
Playgrounds, the underground Capital
building parking lot—
3.
Even if they give me
The cold shoulder, I’m all for chatting
With the broken parts of
Me with bluegreen, detached compassion.
Hello bum knee, I’d say.
Good morning, right shoulder bursitis.
Have a seat, somatic tinnitus.
There, there, my dear burning need to be right.
4.
(For a far more inclusive list, see my ex-wife).
5.
Give me the dream of father standing
out on the porch
Without the need of his cane
Or clunky walker.
Give me the faint turns
Of his go-to monosyllabics
Woven as they so often are with the slurping
of soup
Loud enough to startle
That pair of swallows there, haunting
What’s left of the ticking eaves.