by Susan Fox
A sea of ugly green toads swim smoothly around
my head while I am reclining.
A small army of Rudolph:
Red bulbous noses,
but no Christmas joy follows
their entrance.
They seem intent on turning
over my iced tea,
interrupting my music,
pulling my feet from the
chair...
Their unpleasant voices
remind me of what I said,
(which wasn’t said)
but must have been said
because it now bothers me.
I finally send them out of
the room
to a place they do not like.
Their little general marches
with them
back and forth, rudely before
the Throne of God.
Hurling accusations at me
like balefire,
a small squeaky dog toy, he
fusses.
His absolute defiance is a
bonfire of despair.
But I know how to rock his
indigestion.
I simply bow my head before the
One
and say,
“I am nothing.”
And so it was with the Angel
known as Michael,
who asked one question:
“Who is
like God?”*
A shooting star framed
against the inky sky,
the disgraced commander falls
like lightening.
A shower of meteors follow.
Stars -- one-third the
princes of the kingdom –
fall from heaven.
It all happened in my salon.
Goodbye Red.
Goodbye Green.
