Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Don't paint it black

A Yellow Door

When I slip out at dawn for the paper
Muscle in groceries from the back of the car
Dog gone all charcoal smudged behind the screen    

Whether losing a few minutes to church
People witnessing like salt and pepper
Shakers from the front porch, galloping heat

Up through the sober soles of their brogans
Lest they forget their toehold on the lip
That rims the eternal lake of brimstone

Emerging sinners bathed in the honeyed
Liquor of salvation abiding in
A sunset stroll downtown, enticed by a

Niggling alter call we barely make out
over choirs of cicadas, Communion
taken knee to knee at a street café

Coming or going, going or coming
shot as from the barrel of a cannon
limping back in on a wing and a prayer

Only a yellow door will do, perhaps
A snarling lion knocker we’ll ignore
On lazy evenings slow as broken yolk.

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