While I Wait For The Messiah

WHILE I WAIT FOR THE MESSIAH

I wait for the Messiah and spend an hour in front of the TV.

My posture slack and hair greasy.

I watch the PBS Newshour and Charlie Rose from the night before.

The phone rings. A quick chat with a friend. We attempt to meet later, but I already know it will fall through.

The cat walks by, sniffs at my feet, and lays in the square of warm light by the glass door.

Talk of Haitian orphans adopted in Denver. I fast forward to a conversation about the banks.

Too big to fail. Too big to jail.

A tiny spider runs down the side wall.

Salinger is dead. The Messiah has already come for him.

I listen to jazz.

The ink in my pen runs out.

I am thirsty and have nothing to do.

Copyright 2010 Oren Peleg