Barry Ballard


          GOD AT I-20

God was wearing a pair of faded

blue jeans and a soiled tee-shirt, screaming

at the blackbirds and smoke exhaust in the dead

language of some unknown tongue. And the steaming

rage of the place was running down his brow

and into his eyes as if the world

had wrung itself through his body, the ground

that he stood on, and his battered self-will.


And in one of those rare moments when First Cause

or The Infinite accidentally connects

(when a stop light brings you face to face), you’d

swear that this could be your own father

and that for one instance (while you both share

the same sky), you could be his only son.

Copyright © 2002 Barry Ballard.  All Rights Reserved.

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