Rehearsing


Rehearsing

Another morning has come to greet the sun
Chasing the night away as coffee brews on the stove
A cup with spoon to swirl the cream in to blend the clouds away
As I sit and think of questions that I cannot even form
I wonder about the woman down the street who lives alone
In a home being foreclosed on even as the year has come full circle
Her son is college stuff and flunking out as he goes to class
Neighborhood children run barefoot laughing as they pass
At my comment of concern for nails and rocks and wiggly worms while
The Church of the Holy Hypodermic will ring its chimes
At dawn, lunch, and dinner time, a mile away as I listen and decide
That the ringing bells are as lonely in their song
As is the old man in the darkened corner house
Alone, staring at a wall, waiting in silence for his time to die. 2/18/2015

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The Drunk on the Corner is


THE DRUNK ON THE CORNER IS
Copyright 4.15.18 by Gordon Kuhn all rights reserved.

The holy drunk on the corner is
As holy as the Pope who drinks wine
And who represents a group with a history of crime
That turned its back on the Jews and friended Hitler
The holy drunk on the corner is
As holy as the holy father in his lofty mansion
Protected by an armed security
And who is worshiped in life and will be in death
As the only voice of God here on this earth
Except for the drunk castaway lying at the corner
Who in his drunkenness is holier that the pope.