The Sandwich
What is left
In this burned-out bungalow
But scattered crumbs
Tracing a trail
Leading from my room to yours.
I had it once;
Once there was something
I held it in my hands
The impalpable made tangible
A flame lit by the invisible rays of the sun.
You can't start a fire
To save your life.
Similarly, I can't find anything to eat
But a moldy disease someone left
Festering in the corner of your room.
Jesus, take this thing
Divide it amongst the people
Let it nourish and sate
Their terrible, ravenous hunger
And then leave.
Honestly, I don't deserve
The sandwich.
You do; I give credit
Where it is due.
Hallelujah.
No comments:
Post a Comment