To the uninitiated, it looks
Like a tar stain on a telephone pole.
You shoulder your way
Through the crowd of believers
And try not to feel their keen
Faces. You try not to judge.
If they see the Virgin Mary
Or Jesus Christ or Hart Crane, well
Good for them, right? I mean
Who are they hurting? Then again
Couldn’t this oomph, this
Gusto for signs and wonders
Be applied to the hardscrabble?
Couldn’t they volunteer
At a soup kitchen or adopt
A blind dog? On the other hand
Maybe they do do-good. You don’t.
Right? So who are you to lecture?
It looks like snow. Your back aches
Just thinking about shoveling, again.
March, lion, lamb, bah.
The sun looks like a blood orange.
When you break free of the host
You look back, one last time—
Yeah—that’s Hart Crane. No doubt.
published in H_NGM_N #7