Over Heard

When first I heard my father's voice

squall from this mouth, a dry dead wind

gusting into this present - overtones of

menace, this world and the troubling next -

time and all Virginia stone froze.

Then God stepped in through a crease

above the compost pile, hung his hat

on the locust post, drooped his big

god head slowly, lowly down the way

gods and boozy uncles do, said, "I'm betting

you had no idea it'd be anything like this,"

then spit a thick ropey mess. Ambrosia.

You think I'm kidding? Don't think I'm kidding.

Beginnings always get a tooth like this.

© 2009, Jim Gourley

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