Metastoicheiosis

Father stands before them, says
“The bread is life is eternal.”
Two six-year-old girls
Sit close, listening, watching.

One has twisted a tissue
Into a pointed pick
Which she thrusts repeatedly
Into her right nostril.

She thrusts, then inspects,
Then thrusts, then inspects,
Until, at long last,
Her efforts are rewarded.

She smiles a toothy, wide relief
And shows the fruits of her labor
To her silent, attentive neighbor
Who nods a curt approval.

“There is life eternal,” Father says,
“And that is the good news.”
“In fact,” he continues, arms raising,
“What news in this world could be better?”

Metastoicheiosis

3 thoughts on “Metastoicheiosis

Sock it to me

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