No Respect in his Own Neighborhood

August 24, 2017

Our neighborhood prophet in the ancient strip mall tries

to warn us of our impending doom.


Maybe he wears the stark white tunic with the crimson cross

slashed across his chest because his scrawled poster signs

about the end time went unheeded

by passersbys in their automobiles.


We zoomed by in our sedans and gas-chugging SUV neglecting

to wave so he took more solemn measures.


Last time I saw him, he had gotten his message more succinct. 

Help Trump build the wall.


No one ever stops to hear more.  A lone woman brings water.

They act familiar with each other.  She might be tied

to him for more than his message.


All the while, we Midwestern drivers scowl at him

disapprovingly, and use his presence as a harbinger that

there is an intersection ahead.


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