What I first saw of the finger, what it
did do, was push a bike like the bead
of an abacus from high on the right
to the opposite corner. The rider knew
nothing of this, but I could see it clearly.
What the finger didn’t do, later in the day,
which I also saw, was swipe leisurely
through the pollen across the top of my car.
The pollen was green and would’ve tasted like candy.
Not a fixed-ghost lump of sugar,
but sugar rejoicing, rising in tea
Don’t strike the snake
I thought as I struck
at the root of my sin.
Fear not but pity
weighed my spade as I cut
earth with my thought.
For the serpent, too, a creature is –
rise thus he must –
and the first to fall waits longest of all.
Yes, by God he’ll rise. I say it is just.
For what better blow
to the little man’s pride
than to give what he hates
and wants all along?
