Man, Nature, God

(for the Ross Taylor)

Miss Priscilla took her Sunday morning stroll
while I prayed at the church of my choice.

Upon return, I noticed her bob and weave
on the back porch. I detected the signs.

She had swallowed fermented yeast
from the pan I had left there.

I thought, let her have her fun. It’s her prerogative, her reward
for earning the red ribbon at the county fair.

When I bent down to give her a kiss,
she quacked

Then exploded with loud report
into hundreds of pieces.

I ran into the kitchen, covering my one good eye
with both hands.

The district surgeon was summoned. His diagnosis:
Penetration of eye by flaying fragment of duck.

He offered no hope for return of my optics,
but, as consolation, provided his discounted rate.

Beloved Miss Priscilla is in a better place. I’m practically blind
but my faith remains unbroken.

I invite you to share the wonder of it all with us, Sundays, 10 a.m.,
at The Fresh Life Church, corner of Busse and Albert.

Paul Brucker, a marketing communications writer, lives in Mt. Prospect, IL, “Where Friendliness is a Way of Life.”  He put a lid on poetry writing when he went to the Northwestern University grad ad school in a questionable attempt to learn how to think like a businessman and secure a decent income.  Nevertheless, he has succumbed to writing poetry again. He has been published recently in “The Literary Nest,” “Fishbowl Press,” “The Beautiful Space,” “Prachya Review,” “The Bangalore Review,””monthstoyears” and “The Pagan’s Muse: Words of Ritual, Invocation and Inspiration.