And, Heather talks,
of ingrained ruts, the cadence of complaining.
Limited by all that I think I must DO, has nothing to do,
with I am,
and THAT plus-orb,
is the story that is being challenged.
Will they all keep coming to tear at my clothes?
They cast lots for, a die for, runes for,
not the woman, but the dirty garment. It is written there,
in the gospel of John, my house will be a house of prayer,
yet you have made of it a den of robbers.
There again in his eye,
I am shown,
how to see the bright yellow of the French’s mustard,
the ruby of Heinz’s ketchup, gulps and gobs,
onto my lunch.
A Hebrew National, kosher,
on a Safeway Signature bun,
and what is branded is won.
Photo c/o Jonathan Petersson/unsplash