Never Mind Esthetics, Guys

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

It is as if Christ has no sense of hues,

As if the color wheel does not exist.

It is as if he doesn’t understand that blues

Don’t go with oranges, and as if the list

Of complementaries ain’t important. Snails

Eat sea stars if the snails don’t care about

The beasts they’re chewing.  Probing snail-mouth nails

Do punctures and they suck the innards out.

It doesn’t bother God that clashing blue

Is chomping orangey victim. Star legs strain

Up, curling as their creature acts as stew

Inside the snail insensate to the pain.

 The Son and Father and the Holy Ghost

    Watch snail slow-feeding on defenseless host.

©  Phillip Whidden