said they'll grow slanted eyes
but they bother non.
rectangular wood table,
oak chairs with loose bolts
vintage plates, stained napkins and blonely breath
Bowed heads, prayer leaders, unsung captains
rain stained ceilings
waist buckets to wrap rare tears in
upon tender cracks afraid to soon grow.
Worn 'Annie Allen' on couch
"I Come That You Might Have Life" crooning the background
A framed portrait by Frida leans on the bottom of the kitchen counter
and 'Come Sunday' by Barnes hangs on a side wall
Ain't no tale of tragedy
but of grace in the course of triumph
while in lion's dens
No pity they want
but at face value they take you
but no need for friends -
Go off and play at work
meet at the table
and eat the same thing all over again.