Member Poem

White barn owls zig-zag the choice in my mind:
Clink of ice against glass or warmed mulberry wine,
Steamed Earl Grey milk tea or brandy poached pears,
Rum raisin ice cream or gin soaked arrears.

A copper mug kicks me, a Soviet mule,
He snorts candied ginger, an imprisoned fool,
Perhaps Ivan the Great, his cherry nose wide
Might bloom in my stomach, potatoes inside.

Midnight mass incense, the Priest beckoning
I keep my head bowed, my sins stink of ruin
My arms remain folded, unfit to receive
The Holy Communion, despite my belief,
“Unfold thy arms, child, Jesus loves thee!” he says
I do as I’m told, my palms open, and pray.

A mission, at night, the candles aglow
I stumble through corridors, my head an arrow
Shot through the sanctity, a trail of champagne
Hitting the bulls-eye, Madonna aflame.

Is she weeping for me, those fat cognac tears,
does she want me to hand her a cocktail or beer?
Is her palate sweet, bitter or sour
My guess is, like me, she drinks on the hour
Whatever’s around, whatever’s on tap,
I honor her purity, pour a glass of tree sap.

Up to her lips, the honey mead sticks
Onto her garment, a lustful gold drip,
She smiles down at me, no pity, no ire
I smile back at her, my guts still on fire.