Smartmouth and The Mysteries
       

Year upon year I know less and less
about time. It gits like nobody's business,

though I suspicion it is not. Verily,

I am content with dust snug in corners.
I wander around scroungy as John the Baptist.

And no longer implored to worship anything,
free of idol chitchat, I snoop about the premises.

At Easter Vigil the priest has angels at the tomb
and a mirth quake. Shaken, he addressed

the State of the Jungian, and God's rabbity
elbow in my ribs made me jump and yelp.

So when I read in a caption, "Maryland woman
now Buddhist lama," I hear my often—

misquoted mother driving her enormous car.

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Copyright © 2014 James Malone Smith All rights reserved
from 32 Poems
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission