Sermon a la Barbarie: regalo de Anivesario II

You were the self-styled rain-goddess

looming plumply above my copy of Vallejo,

mustering spiteful tokens out of the

threadbare blue. I wonder what he'd made

of your subtle yet perfunctory exercise of

godhood: how my most buoyant quips sank

forever into your flashing, mud-colored

eyes; or your tongue resembled a tin roof

under a two-millennium hailstorm,

while the way your head snarled at sunrise

suggested an attendant whirly watched over

your feeble dreams. Not that they werebound

by the stratosphere: for once uttered

our words, however trivial, belong to eternity.

So I rehearsed with a mouthful

of white the distinctive stance of retching

angels that grace Gothic cathedrals; the

last hair on my head in place,

I clung tothe remote,

tuned in the weather channel