NATIONAL PASTIME

Mickey Mantis, still as a stick
bent on preying, wet as slicky spit,
a skinny sinner, preaches a hungry schtick

knees locked,
unrepentant crowd-pleaser
in a pose reverential, concludes
morning’s service in open-maw awe

full-on prayers for hysterical flies,
hearty gnats in party hats

an up-welling gusher of ’em

a buzzing, unmeteorological cloud … settling …

an arrowdite flight
streaking between pulpit
and home plate

MM licks clean digits and elbows
leaving no evidence of a feeding frenzy,
dismembered freight