Poem of the Day

In front of thousands on a Sunday
the Pope at the Vatican released two doves.
He rang a bell, sang Hail Mary
full of grace the Lord is with Thee
and then a crow and a seagull
swiftly out of nowhere
ripped apart the doves,
the pontiff still huddled at the window,
the crowd below
shifting and whispering.

I’m in the living room
reading aloud the news from Rome
when Josie tells me he hates
poetry readings. Says that’s where poets
drown their poems
in the lake of enunciation.
Or slaughter them
with the dull blade of poetvoice.

Guess I agree, I say. But maybe
these events are like church,
sometimes tedious
but reflecting a desire among the faithful
to make a sacrament.

Josie shrugs. We aren’t churchgoers.
Almost 9 pm, and I’m finally hungry.
Saltines, banana, chicken noodle soup.
Hunger a limit, a violence—
but it is life calling.