Inevitable

not sure i can go on,
been camping out on the threshing floor
hiding from my donkey.

can't deal with confrontation today.

on top of everything, Granpa's brand new axe-head
is at the bottom of Goose Creek.
Uncle Elijah lied— certain elements are heavy as lead—
i would go to the temple
but my eyes are all red and Eli scares me.
it's not like i'm praying for a son.

rash vows are littered all around me,
so i locked the front door and
took my plate of manna out on the back porch.
my bush won't burn and
someone's been ploughing with my heifer.

you can blow the silver trumpet all you want,
pray for the sun to stand still
or take the bus to Endor,
but
nothing feels right.

I'm sore. Maybe I've been sitting on the household gods for too long,

feeding the living room lions or waiting for the oil to run out.

Increase my faith, O big-picture God,

because there’s no mustard sprout in my paper cup life

and I’ve never seen the Bronx River drown gangsters

or pharaohs or anybody.