Are you a stone?
	I see you broken
	like a stone
	into shards or clumps of crystals fused
	together, separated from each other after
	a violent collision, thrown
	against a wall or upon the ground,
	a hammer plunging into you. The hardness of a stone
	on first glance seemingly unbreakable,
	but apply the right pressure and before us crumble, dust.
	You deceive us like salt who dissolves
	under the smallest drop of water after imitating
	magnificent dignified boulder miniaturized
	- salt's grandeur undoubtedly delusional.
	Recognized stone's characteristics, yet I suspect
	your heart is not made of stone, but only weighted like one.
	No, you are not a stone.
	Are you garbage?
	I do see pickled egg orbitals glassy underneath strands of wilted, rotten lettuce
	fried skins shimmering smeared grease sweating oil
	draping stained wrappings heaped
	packaged in solied box bent and cracked at the corners pressed
	amongst the rubbish scattered about the dumpster, thrown
	away without further service or as a result of forgotten value.
	Chewing gum stuck bottom of someone's shoe nuisancing,
	impeding pleasant walk along street deserving rash scraping from sole
	(soul?).
	Before you were enjoyed, did contributem satisfied the needs of a few,
	a part of the whole, a collection and a coveting.
	How have you become unwanted?
	Assuredly the smell
	unmistakably preserved decay, excrement, forsaken existence
	-forsaken; garbage is not forsaken.
	Surely you are not garbage.
	If you are not a stone, if not garbage, who?
	I know you have a name, I've heard it,
	you have told me as much.
	It's Ju Ju, I recall...
	The Last Prophet, I believe.
	Four children I will have?
	So uncharacteristic of me who foresees I will not become fathering husband.
	But it's you who tells the future, my dignitary, divine psychic,
	knowing my beloveds will not send me off in my old age,
	I am given in whiskied wind leaving your weathered face.
	Even prophets sometimes need AA;
	after all, the son of God did walk the streets as well.
	Saucy Saint become stone and garbage-
	rejected sediment, disturbed dreg: homesick.
	But you are home. You are
	here
	on Earth; but oh, yes- people
	home is peopled, lively companions
	cat child, television friend, supportive chair cushion, snuggling heat - your
	family
	at home. Is life
	enough to be home?
	Lonely, drafty, prickled by passing eyes and words pointing and ignoring
	if only someone would lift you up out away into home...
	No not under a shelter
	No not before a plate
	No not into a shower
	but laid asleep in bed blanketing sweet dreams
	At last.
Copyright 1997 John Feissel. All rights reserved.