Sidewalks And Signals

I drive on hard and hallowed roads
Until the blue sky stoops, until
My radio receives these bright and
Strong November days. They

Transmit Dylan’s boot leg
Release number eight. The
Buzz of amplifiers rises when he
Breathes. “Once,” he says,

“I had a pretty girl, but she did
Me wrong. Now I’m marching to
The city and the road ain’t long.”
I join the sacred melody; I join

Everyone who moves over these
Highways. We drive, and the
Sidewalks are beside us. We sing,
And the signals bend to find us.

The Pastor-Beggar

The pastor-beggar drifted
‘cause the way is never clear when
the chips and blows and
glances form an idol out of fear.
He

bobbed along in bluster
till he almost blew away.
The ones they call his demons
said he held a hand
to play. So he

laid down his last dollar, kept
an ace down in a hole, till
the queen of hearts came
steady on and seared him
like a coal. Now his heart is

shreds and tatters and
his heart is filled with ruth where
the teeth of self-
deception gnawed
the corners of the truth…still,

the broken plate of comfort
that once served his precious
wish must, in time, become
a banquet on a fine and
costly dish. And

the pastor will be proven
by the testing of the years
as a beggar who gained
riches; as a king who
reigned with tears.

Bathtub

I’m in the tub
and here’s the rub,
Mom says to get out soon.

I’m nice and warm
and there’s no harm in
wrinkles like a prune.

My towel sits
just out of reach and
does not make a move

to help me fight,
this chilly night,
the awful goosebump goons.