if i take this cup of bitter dregs you’ve given me to drink
and dash it against your rock,
will sweet, cool water flow, washing away the knifing shards?
will there be enough to quench my thirst and cleanse myself?
or will i simply find myself still stuck in your immense desert,
with only my cupped, supplicating hands, and no water—
merely clods of damp soil i’ve clawed from deep beneath
the foot of your burning bush?
then you can watch me place your dirt in my mouth,
and suck until it’s dry.
lord, you are so easily amused.
(Published in gutter eloquence magazine, Issue #20, March 2012; copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)