Notes About The Poem
Poetic Form: Free Verse
Inspired: 2023 December 30
Image: N/A
Is It Sunday
'Tis be the night like any, except,
this year, the eve will fall on a Sunday.
'Twill be easier for the foxes to
appear from their denizens.
There'll be time enough for them to
put away their shepherd crooks
and their masques of necessity.
We all have had in our lifetimes, and
times before then, 'hints' and or more
than that, of who the Almighty be.
Just that some of us have room
enough for their closets, as their spares
are filled with skeletons. 'Je ne sais quoi,'
"I don't know what." Who cares? They do.
We, who do not wear masque, are
reviled for our shameless ways to be seen
by their kind. To carry on a despicable
manner, in public, of all places. Whether
it be on the streets, or in a tavern that is
the setting of New Year's camaraderie,
the accusations will fly undauntedly.
We'd like to believe that they fear the
Almighty--just as we do, hence, we are
without a masque. Open are we to being,
--just, knowing that arrows aim true. The
archers have replaced their crooks.
Now, that their arrows have flung, they
will busy their closets, once again. We will
be waiting for them--oh, no ... nothing like
that, after all, this is a public space. Our
doors, unlike the church that's down a
piece, are open to all. Respective of their
race, color, sexual orientation, proper
age, and, of course, their faiths.
Shortly, we will be expecting, --our
friends--we never call them by that
'other' word, it's so cliche, and so un ...
oh well, be top of the evening, 'twill end a
Sinday.
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