Nov/Dec 2015 • Vol. XXXVII No. 6 Poetry |

Sodoma, Monks at Table with St. Benedict (Monte Oliveto Maggiore)

Wrapped in the hush of their holy garments, they contemplate their portions of little fish, two apiece, nearly slim as minnows & umber as their smooth faces that are girlish except for bearded Benedict who lifts a monitory hand & mouths mysterious words while these acolytes look sick at the thought of yet another bony briny sacrificial thing to chew.       Oh all very well the old miracle of loaves & fishes, but didn't that happen in the Galilee where He couldn't do any better? Here & now it's Tuscany, the dark sex of vines ripening & great horned Chianina cattle lowing in the fields, begging for butchery!

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