In those days, judgement

was in the howl throat of

every woman and man. 

I was at the bottom of

the cistern in thick mud

— above my head, a

waste land of light.

Doctrine, that sheaf of

thin reeds, was slapped against

the cheek, a buffeting, a spitting,

speaking false from hollow power.

The messenger died running through

the hell of evils, in great darkness, in

last days.

In the tavern, a shot of

Old Testament.

The tyrant’s footprint in

Men’s linoleum,

black stone tower,

sacred small change.

At consecration, the infant

crawls the church carpet,

smiling her kaddish.

Patrick T. Reardon, a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee, has authored eleven books, including the poetry collections Requiem for David (Silver Birch), Darkness on the Face of the Deep (Kelsay) and The Lost Tribes (Grey Book). Forthcoming is his memoir in prose poems Puddin’: The Autobiography of a Baby (Third World).  His website is patricktreardon.com.  His poetry has appeared in Rhino, Main Street Rag, America, Autumn Sky, Burningword Literary Journal and many others.  His poem “The archangel Michael” was a finalist for the 2022 Mary Blinn Poetry Prize.