Poem #23

When was God confined

To the top of the bus,

Babbling earnest script,

Embarrassing the rest of us?

We pass our awkward silence

Round, like collection plate,

And an intermittent purr

Alleviates the grate.

 

I’m not in the mood

(Can theodicy answer this:

Why I’ve found myself, again,

On a Replacement Bus Service?)

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