The Zen of Hardheadedness
8 August 2006
The television was rudely
interrupted by a loud boom.
A whitewashed, diseased sycamore
struck by lightning disgorged a branch
large enough to block the road
near our house, stopping all movement
of SUVs and automobiles:
curious the way these creatures
would creep up to it, hesitate,
unaccustomed to being restrained
in this particular manner,
recognize the futility,
exhaust a sigh, turn, and retreat.
The televangelist glares,
screaming into the camera,
in New Jersey mock Southern twang,
turning Hell fire and damnation
into a steady stream of cash,
electronically deposited, of course.
Despite the thunderstorm, I watch.
I do know I'm not supposed to.
I remember my great aunt's warning:
"Turn off the TV and stay away from the phone
during a thunderstorm." But then again,
she also said I was "a hard headed
little boy, bound to grow up hard headed."
And sure enough, here I am, the thunder,
the TV, the televangelist,
and all I need now is for the damn phone to ring.
© 2006, Satya J. Gabriel