he says, lisping
lips between licks of
thumbs. “I am
“Don’t you see?
the obscenity of grace
on a bar-stool?” He grins,
wins the obligatory chuckle
from the knuckled grunt
beside him at the bar.
“Buy me a beer, dear,”
he says, head bowed, beard soured
with spittle. “I’ve little taste for the wine
and the water’s too fine for this miracle.
“He’ll come for me,” he assures,
purrs in his drunken content. “I’m the least
after all, humble and small, ready
to inherit the earth.”
Poet's Note: Still playing catch-up. J. Not sure where this came from but...this is what came. Continuing on with the A to Z challenge. http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/