Christian Poetry -203

Flea-market Saturday


Flea-market goods clamor entreating
potential owners like pound dogs
waiting on death row desperately
praying for nervous salvation

Tables serve out trinkets and junque
their failed luster sinks below the
horizon of nameless weary workers
grasping a nether world of mercy

Crowds flow through gilded diversions
some rapidly some near rest still they
flow worshipful at the veterans‚ half
bows from the waist with a healing

touch Currency fuels the marketplace
promoting detainee doves up temple
steps homeward neatly tucked under the
arms of proud owners‚ braggart faces

Commerce usual as it should be until
market doors resonate shuttering and
fleas leap hiding inside the gorge of
a ware's severed tentacle transaction

and mobs rush over the spillways of the
toppled running towards confusion
and anger the worst of all angers arrives
A community of misplaced faith gone

as Jesus razes the marketplace