Last Adam on 14th St - Barry Denny

[Larry Robinson]

Last Adam on 14th St
                                   
On the way to the optometrist inadvertently
                                    I cut in front of a woman hurrying
                                    towards a subway turnstile —
                                    Jesus Fucking Christ
                                    she mutters; immediately, I see
                                    The King of Kings on the platform,
                                    chaste in desert schmered schmatta,
                                    head covered in the world’s greatest hoodie.
 
                                    He jukes around the station as if manifesting
                                    survival of the stylish—
                                    pushing the masses right and left,
                                    branding them sheep and goat,
                                    thanking the mutton for feeding the hungry,
                                    binding the horns of selfish cloven hoofed billys.
 
                                    The carpenter’s a genie,
                                    minimizing razzle-dazzle,
                                    magnifying maggots,
                                    meat of the matter—
not what I expected  to see
                                    on my way
                                    for bifocals.
                                   
                                    Stand clear of the closing doors,
                                                                       
                                    My visual field
                                    has expanded
in ways
                                    inexplicable.  
                                   
Twenty dollar copayment!
                                                                      
                                    Have a vision once,
expect another,

                                    bumping into the Anointed One
                                    blessing his caffeinated flock
                                    in an wireless hole.
                         
                                   
 
 
 
Ah, if He and I never meet again,
I’ll search for sourdough
and bits of herring
                                    on laps of bleary-eyed commuters
 
                                    Why do I more joyfully give directions
to a stranger then high five
                                    a methadone raving beggar?
 
                                    Guide me, Rabbi . . .   
        
	- Barry Denny
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