INDIGESTION

God is leaving me alone, “Il m’excuse”,
I pause,
relaxed, attend my p’s and q’s,
content to be a secondary cause.
It is a valid place. For now, I rest,
throw in the towel,
released from God’s insistence on the best.
(He likes to wrong my heart and wring my bowel) :
“Do it right this time, Y’ hear?”
his endless, “Try again” and then, “Again!”
his “Perhaps I didn’t make it clear?”
his “How can I be yet more plain?”
But could it be my indigestion makes the choice
masquerades as God’s corrective voice ?

Poems from the Eighth Decade
Copyright © Harold Macdonald 2004 used with permission
 

Harold Macdonald Poetry