A free verse poem
Below the parapet of a
mahogany cattle pen,
backside numb in a hard-bench row,
I shiver in musty air.
Winter coat zipped to the chin,
script clutched in gloved hand,
ready for when we,
the compacted minions,
in ranks, will chant
our King James verse.
Vows, then
penitence sought for
involuntary actions.
Blessings…