A Marker in the Mud
In a spontaneous fit of pseudo-zenic gloriosity,
the aged, retired, forgotten apostle
found himself headlong running
across the surface of Galilee's Sea;
fortunately for him,
a summer drought had stolen all the water;
left little more than spongy mud
where he arrived and stood, quite stunned.
And he became anchored there
as ancient, bearded, solitary stork,
a statued sentry in the center of a perfect flatness.
Later, politely retrieved from his lonely post
by his cheering buddies,
as they washed the ankle-deep sludge from his feet,
he remembered another footwashing
by another, whom no one could rescue
from that Holy, solo pole
where the butcher hung Him up,
out there on the stretching flat of eternity.
Copyright (c) 2008 Gary Brown