Resurrection traffic begins
as hope fills polite pulpits
and children hunt Easter eggs.
Churches fill with Sunday-bests
while walls, stiff from attrition,
crack and breathe for a minute.
But grey-heads shake in disgust
at jeans and old tennis shoes:
Folks just trying to do what’s right.
While all around the planet
the sick and unfortunate
puzzle at “Happy Easter”.
A car-struck squirrel’s mother
begs if your theology
shares grace with her flattened son.
Crows feast as a black sun sets.
Wind whips through the sacred cracks
clearing out inconvenience.
— by Sabio Lantz
Form self-constraint: triplets, 7 syllables/line, free meter
Prompt: none, just for folks unfortunate enough to subscribe to this blog.
Comment Request: please compose poetic replies of one or more triplets with 7 syllables/line. Humor, anger, sarcasm — all emotions welcome.
Background: Today is the Christian holiday of Easter. Early this morning I took my daughter out for an Easter bagel when I saw this road-kill squirrel, stopped the car and jumped out to snap the picture. “Dad, seriously?” she said with exasperation while I began this poem in my head.
See my post on “Roadkill Theology“.