Too Many Forty-Sevens
One has to laugh at the absurdityof driving down country roads
in search of a farm on a mountain
named Wildcat for a church service,
preached by a woman pastor of
extraordinary wisdom and power,
the very wildcat the SBC discounts.
He was determined to get there,
the multiple identical addresses
a puzzle to be solved
as he searched with a signal
pulsing in and out, as I drove
round curves unfamiliar,
hopeful the next address
would be the one.
The clock ticked minutes
as the service progressed,
the hope I had felt
surrendered to the frustration
of too many forty-sevens
on a treasure map
we would never find.
Barbecue was not to be;
lunch at a local restaurant
brought memories of our first date.
Perhaps this was meant to be.
He remembered what I had ordered.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Read 169 times
Editors' choiceWritten on 2026-06-15 at 02:08
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
Albert Vynckier |
|
Editorial Team |
|
jim |
|
Griffonner |
|
Kee Zealy |
|
Sameen |
| Texts |
 by Melinda K Zarate Latest textsRedefinedTightening Scorched A Low Vibration Medusa |
Increase font
Decrease