“We
have no milk,”
you
speak quietly
in
a tone reminiscent
of
another’s observation
that
wine had run out
at
a wedding feast.
Miraculous
transformation
of
wine or milk
from
pitchers of water
seemingly
absent from
the
church job description
of
educator and
director
of parish music,
a
deficit in proportion
to
a yearly salary of
nine
thousand dollars
for
seven days work
each
week with two
weeks
off for good behavior.
As
there is no blood-letting
from
turnips, there is
no
milk-letting from
music,
nine thousand
dollars
before government
expenses
and other
deductions,
does not
provide
well for a
family
of five.
Your
milk-filled breasts
have
not enough milk
for
baby and cereal for
two
growing boys
at
the table. Evenings
liqour
store clerking and
weddings
and funerals
cannot
fill both
refrigerator
and bellies.
Well
below the income
for
a family of four,
much
less five,
no
food shelves yet
conceived
for the
impoverished
and
hungry.
Reaganomics
mock
the poor
who
fight for the
crumbs
from the
richman’s
table.
Trickle
down’s
empty
promises stab
visciously
at the
hunger-panged
stomachs
of the poor.
The
class of ‘70
golden
ring, the weight
far
too heavy
for
a musician’s right
hand,
would decorate
finer
the hand of
another
man. Perhaps,
remolten
into glimmering
shimmering
light,
the
golden reshaped
circlet
might hang
from
a chain
adorning
the breast
of
some young woman.
The
jeweler’s eye
gauges
carefully
its
worth, twenty
dollars,
no more
no
less, twenty
dollars it is.
There
will be milk
and
bread on
the
table for
another
week.
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