Ragnarök in the Coles supermarket car park
I found Jesus
in the kitchen, late
helping himself
to the sour dough loaf
some roast beef, mustard
I thought I’d take the chance
my lower back – a small miracle
but he only had advice, gentle exercise
back stretches. The Holy Ghost was hanging
literally, from the saucepan hooks
I’d expected a big irradiating dove
dropped to the bench top an Indian Mynah
yellow beak Long John Silver hop
streaky feathers making a mess
nesting on the small coil
I couldn’t boil an egg,
and asked them to leave.
When I saw them again
they’d been joined by an angel
busking outside the Centrelink office
at least the winged giant played well
but the scowl of superiority wasn’t helping
next day, a broken guitar D string
motley ragged down and a vegan condom
marked their spot. A few weeks later
on the evening news, arrested for ram busting
a jeweller’s window the ‘Trinity Gang’
looked haggard and smug handcuffed together
to the remand centre, which caught fire
mysteriously. The graffiti on Spencer Street
big letters ASCENSION OK was in a colour,
that couldn’t be identified
My lumbar is better.
James Walton Poetry 