Cavernous Mouths

 Cavernous Mouths

(“Their eyes bulge out from eating so well; their hearts overflow with delusions.” Psalm 73:3)

And so the evening crashed upon the heads of those
sitting in the sun. The horses were weary,
the helicopters queried the air like locusts sawing
the late autumn corn.
Everything was torn by cavernous mouths opened
to consume the meals set for the upper crust. Wine flowed
even after the rusted plumbing creaked in pain.
The aristocracy lived on cream and strawberry liqueur.

It was all too common to watch the working class
buy barley desert at a day’s wages a pound.

And so the walls of the palaces, stone-washed and
monolithic, rose like steeples, soared like crossbows,
imitated fighter jets and
stood like armament. Outside the gardeners sweat to
keep the imported shrubs shorn;
inside nothing was gained, nothing was created, nothing
was born.
Only richer recipes to keep the opulence pop-eyed,
the dining hall stocked with exotic past-times. But the

Future prophecies reversal. The
magnificat sings of leveling. The meek inherit
what the mansion dwellers only rented.

And then, in one final display of grace,
the playful poor will invite the rich
to dine with them,

Once they have checked their waistcoats at the door.