“I am Goliath and I will not be toppled by some sheep-herding
small fry! An eye for an eye.” A pompous fist-pump
pommels the air and pummels the bully pulpit preaching pretentious
promises of presumptive presidential potency. “Sticks and stones can’t
touch these bones and words are no worry either. Winners don’t
lose and I am not a
loser!” Whack! Thud. Kapow. ZZZZZZ----
---pop.
ZING!
Ouch.
Penetrating porous clouds around his head
sling-shot slicing dicing slashing gashing backlashing
words of no worry to ballot-blessed bones unless
Ouch.
“Who dares to attack? I am invincible!” Eeeee! Look. Behind
you. Through a glass dimly he sees
himself. Zinging demeaning
soliloquies. No boy David slinging stones. Just
himself. “Mini-Me staggers me!” “Holy hyperbole! I think he shot
himself in the foot in his mouth.”
Ouch.
Jill Crainshaw is a professor at Wake Forest University School of Divinity. Her poems have appeared in *82 Review and Five Magazine and in an anthology by Wicwas Press. She is also the author of a number of books on worship and theology.
