The Mountain is Not Removed

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

Inside the Buddhist center in the town

Of Mims mosquitoes maze around and bite.

They munch your blood until your hand slaps down

And reincarnates them.  This holy rite

Then sends them to Nirvana.  At the church

Just down the U. S. Highway Number 1

The deaconesses do not want to smirch

Undrunk communion “wine,” so in the sun

They pour it out beside an anthill so

Perhaps the insects can enjoy a taste

Of Christ’s salvation, though no holy glow

Results.  The grape juice offering sinks in, chaste.

  Mosquitoes, ants and humans go about

    Their acts.  Saint Michael bridles in his sacred shout.

© Phillip Whidden