Leftovers From the Fridge

 Leftovers From the Fridge

(“Notice the innocent person, and look at the decent person, because the peacemaker has a future.” Psalm 37:37)

Bought and sold at the outdoor markets,
a price is paid for counterfeit. A price is paid
for every elongated elocution that batters the air
and supercharges constant fear.

Offered in unkempt homes,
a loaf of bread is as good as a
prospector finding gold. The children
are noisy, the neighbors are often mowing their
lawns at dinner time,
and the hosts apologize for only offering water
to drink.

Judged and juried, injured by those who know how
everyone else
should behave,
the best and simplest are barred from front row seats.
Sometimes they are locked out. Sometimes others walk out.
And the decent heart, sans deodorant, sans decorum,
dries out and shrivels where it should had shined.

Some sit in the round, faces to faces, less hidden
and invited to speak of god without interruption. Glow
ascends from the back row toward the center where,
all together,
the sacred meal is served.

Well, yes, I suppose sometimes it is fish and chips,
sometimes tortillas and guacamole, sometimes the
leftovers from the fridge. But the sacrament is the same
when all look with blameless eyes at the neighbor who,
barred from better doors,
shows up to partake. Shows up to
celebrate.