THE CHOICE

I sat all night
on the side of a hill
and saw the plains
stretching away below me.
Melodies rippled thru the grasses
and the moon dipped her wings
at the praire.
As I watched and listened
I caught an alien echo
whirling past me and stirred to sudden shrill music that screamed from the heights above.
It shouted to me to come,
beckoning with stormy phrases,
filling my ears with stories
of rapture, of life, of
dancing on mountains.
I ached in my body
to follow the trumpets
but I paused only briefly.
I looked at the bluffs and then
I went away and lived in the valley.

---

The King Is Coming

'The King Is Coming'
So it says, under the print
hanging in an obvious spot
north of the water cooler,
west of the waiting room.
A squad of angels dodging whole banks
of glory-seeded clouds
precede a distant figure
that is probably meant to be Christ
but could be some other deity in personal favor.

Out to meet the King
a crowd of decently dressed folk-
scrubbed children,
women in nice dresses
men in good business suits
Just my luck, when I go to meet His Majesty,
to be wearing that old flannel nightgown
and those rediculous bunny slippers.
I`ll tell the first angel to arrive,
'Excuse me. The invitation didn`t say
`Formal Attire'.

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