I have often been accused of being one of those,
people who hates people but loves animals,
but none of that is really true at all.
I do like people, but in all honesty,
I enjoy myself more when people aren't around me,
and I do prefer domestic, feral or wild animal company.
Move over Saint Francis of Assisi,
there's a new patron saint of all animals, yours truly, me.
Saint Francis of Assisi, (name at birth was Giovanni)
had a way with mother nature that to all seemed quite uncanny.
His voice alone would bring the birds to settle at his feet
and listen to his sermons, in the forest, which was sweet.
Within the town of Gubbio, a Wolf preyed on the folk
until our hero cornered it and to it gently spoke
wherein it lay before him and then followed him to town
and the townsfolk fed him daily, thus the body count went down.
This kind Monk's caring nature is a lesson for us all
mankind must act responsibly, reaffirmed by Pope John Paul.
My tenet since my baptism has always been to care
for all of God's creation (except slugs, which I can't bear)
So, since Lord, you're all seeing and all hearing, which is good
I have a question for you, please now tell me, if you would,
Lord, answer this, strengthen my faith and cast away my doubt
Why I keep finding pigeon poo on the laundry I've hung out?
The rottenness of it all is no less foul for having been bleached white. This is the conclusion I come to. I walk with a scarf covering my mouth through the dimly lit catacombs of the faithful. The arched ceiling holds a dangling string of incandescent bulbs which cast a sickly yellow glow on my shoes and the cavities full of thighbones. “Why are all the bones the same,” I ask. The guide smiles. “Tens of thousands of heaven seekers wish to be buried here. There’s only so much room,” he said. “Even today people pay for holy ground.” Ghostly, armless, rib-less, headless, specters seem to rise un-braced, oh the indignity of it all. I picture them searching for the missing parts of themselves. I sneeze through my paisley scarf, stumble back; back, following the arrows in reverse, seeking the way out; just as frantically as they had sought the way in. The rest of the group trudges on; after all, they had paid their coin to Charon.
First Published in Inwood Indiana January 2014
A hospital is not the spot I’d choose
For a fun filled holiday.
It’s narrow bed is not a place
I would while the hours away.
But, one thing I've discovered--
Zero are the chances
That you’ll ever find a finer folk
Than the angels at Saint Francis.
Their sunshine smiling faces
Always brightened dreary days.
The cheery voice and healing touch
Helped to drive pain’s ache away.
Their patient, gentle care
Improved bad circumstances.
I owe a debt of gratitude
To the angels at Saint Francis.