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JONAH'S POEMS
I.
Inside Out
Smelling the finger of God in every rotten hallway,
our crazy Jonah vomits by the wet red blobs
of butcher stalls, a landlubber with ulcers,
seasick with the memory of obscene miracles:
ambergris, blubber and cunt.
Our children follow him about, tease him
into fish tales, dare him to look down their mouths.
We citizens of Nineveh tolerate the harmless touched,
let him wave his crusty arms on market day
lest enemies accuse us of impiety,
but not on holy days or when our army marches
through the squares - then we naturally contain him;
those ocean eyes and seaweed hair do nothing
for morale. The priests see him a traitor,
but we liberals can't spy a revolution
in his incoherent sermons - just a peaceful madman
drowned between a selfish God and a Leviathan.
II. And Jonah said
"Dig up the dead. Women in the streets, the stink.
the
demagogues and Jesus in the bloodstream,
and I accept all offerings Ged Bless You Sir.
Never mind about entrails of big fish;
we roast the skins of our unborn
then talk of the Will of God:
don't make me laugh!
I tell you - piss on wise men;
our children fingerless and blind
while they philosophize to fit the cripples
