Friday Morning - Noaa Rienecker

Head wrapped like moses,
crusty palms turned upward
to meet the falling sky

Donut shop prophet cackles
At a joke no one seems
To be in on

Who knows how damp
He’ll be today, in this
Twenty-four hour twilight

Who knows how damp
He’ll know today, palms up
Invoking some obscure god

He laughs at the torrential show,
Unimpressed, oblivious,
Or both

Or neither, I have no way
Of understanding
Wrath or ecstasy

If I think I see it
In his face. For all I know,
He is the one

Who has been severing
pigeon heads and
placing them in our toilet.