“Save me St Antony!”
All at once
It’s as if a hand has grabbed his leg,
Then a very gruff voice:
“Which St Antony- Egypt or Padua?”
I knew I’d grow like him-
My namesake- Grumpy old bone-bag saint.
Out in the desert no people can bore you
And demons who, at the least, are not boring
Stand out unoccluded in part-time bodies
Of mica and beryl and clear rock crystal.
All around the cell it’s a free fire zone
Where you trigger a prayer and no innocent sucker
Will step in the way.
And the demons burst open
All glittery- like spray from a sprinkler.