NOT QUITE EARLY

MONDAY MORNING, EARLY AND DARK

Driving between time zones,

the furnace clicks on in the mothership.

We have stopped to rest,

the name of the town addressing itself

in rhyme, Abra Kanabra,

covering up its promises

to the faithful, who came here

to replace magic with truth.

The camp claims ancestral links to Crazy Horse.

I read three devotional

works on Lenten practices

followed by a poem by Richard Hugo

celebrating weakness and failure.

If you choose the one consoling me

in my hunger, the other three books

are yours. I'm keeping the poem.

For a minute there,
glancing my way, Jesus thought

I might be getting somewhere.

Jim Bodeen

19 March 2019