Monday, February 20, 2012

Prayer Time

The muezzin is in the know

while I’m busy on the floor,
      fingers tracing tiles of dusted mosaic.

Across the market square, Sebastian sells arrows
      to the Huns, while mongrel whores

snap at scraps of greasy meat.
      On solid ground, one man

peddles the holy word, while above,
      another cries out to no avail.

From on high, the voice calls,
      pulls me from the fray to come pray

though I opt out. I trace
      another tile and smile while

far beyond the scope of my Elijahic vision
      Mohammed crouches on the rock

burbling admonitions to his lambs.
      I see Sebastian peddle away.

Chew a bit of mutton and wait
      for the service to end,

and about me all is silent
      as, upon the minaret, the figure rests.

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