John Fenlon Hogan 

 

     

 

     

      Lead, or the Other Side  

 

 

You contemplate the ergonomics of squeezing

that backpack through a needle’s eye.

 

You stuff entire haystacks, non-perishable

food items, the nuclear power plant

 

at which you’ve worshipped ever since

the sun went dry, the dissatisfaction

 

you inherited when your folks died.

Five square inches remain.

 

The plenary indulgence you earned

silently carrying that cross on your back.

 

The can of green beans that could save

you from starving on eternity. You think

 

God doesn’t own a can opener?

You think this isn’t a monopoly?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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