Sometimes courage fails,
comfort overrides justice
and we ignore the obvious
to enthuse the trivial.
In parlors and pantries
with tusk dents in the wainscoting,
we gaze down, wondering aloud,
how the carpet became so soiled.
Tell me about the finest televisions
and where to tune them.
Tell me what I want to hear
and why I want to hear it.
Do the floor joists bend and groan,
or is it only a creaking door hinge?
Does it smell like a zoo in here?
Certainly not, impossible!
My phone is buying me things.
My phone must love me a lot.
My lover phones me all the time.
She must phone me a lot.
The man with two last names and some Roman numerals
spoke his last words to Lazarus:
This isn't going to hurt you
because I won't feel a thing.
You see, your problem is
that you aren't hardworking enough
to be worthy of inherited wealth.
You could also stand to be a little whiter.
So take a bit of advice from your betters:
Always pay cash up front
and God will love you when you get rich.
He never heard the trumpeting
never felt the trampling,
never saw the strangling trunk
and piercing beams of ivory.
And Lazarus took it as a sign.
He rose up, emptied the blood-soaked wallet
and purchased a bag of peanuts
to celebrate his deliverance.