Ruined Wineskins

 
Ruined Wineskins

(“Paul saw the Lord in a dream one night. He said to Paul, “Do not be afraid. Keep speaking. Do not close your mouth.” Acts 18:9)

We blamed communists for the sit-in protests
during the civil rights movement,
and socialists for suggesting a level playing field;
and surprise, antifa were the demons behind
the attack on the Capitol. Some believe it
still
and call their democratic foes
the agents of Satan.

The robin’s red breast had rusted
over the summer
but she still explored the thinning yard for food.

And why would a friend of many decades,
a friend to whom I had introduced the
Friend of sinners years ago,
assert that so many blacks are killed by
white cops
because black commit more crimes?
Her assertion sank into the mud.
Someone had poured vinegar into a precious new
wineskin.

The miniature american eskimo pup walked with her master
in deep midwinter up in the north country. She ran
her tongue across the ice as they walked around the
town.
Her name was Halo.

And when did those who use “life” in every sentence
decide death sentences should occupy the same paragraphs.
Why do they buy magazines to hold deadly rounds in
weapons thousands of more times deadly than the imaginations
of the 2^nd amendment authors? And life, they say, begins
from conception. Rights, they say, must be afforded this
dividing morass of cells. And once delivered to the world
in antiseptic chambers,
are sent back to live without a single bit of legislation
to keep that new child fed. They blame socialism
again, and the newborn cries go unheard.

The bunnies played as the snows melted. Rabbit feet,
mud, and slush, lead the way from the warrens where
they have slept the winter away.

And why do some decide the sun shines only for their side?
And where do some think the vulnerable go as the earth bakes,
the fossils revealed at the bottom of evaporated lakes?
Why are they angry at data,
why do they rail against serious inquiry,
why do they enervate every honest question as if
it is meant for destruction.
We are a garden that must be tended.

The lions roamed the savannah. As the oases shrunk
their ribs rubbed against their golden manes. They
could only travel to the next watering hole, if the
next watering hole
only existed.