Benediction

There is a feast tonight
Which means I shall probably
die
Of boredom among the celery, nuts,
And olives
As I watch Christ talking
in aimless, amiable platitudes
with his mouth full.
And I no lesser wonder:
The Holy Spirit has the oddest
Sense of humor.

I am sorry
Mrs. Schwarz
to disappoint you
and your philosophic
cat
but
the bitch that cradled
comfort in my heart
never bit me with the
type of tooth that
suckles poison.

Not only am
I not resigned
to next November
and the blackened leaves
but
not
even April will satisfy
me; only a year of
May will do it. The bite
was not poison,
but wisdom.

We suck our teeth and
Think of dinner: the same
rancid
Butter for the lobster, steak
Tenderized
By title only. How long?
Even the stars shift into third
as they whirl over
America. Christ, Christ, go
Back. Slam your golden doors; we
Have no time for Gethsemane.