the reception (Matthew 22:1-14)

in his off-the-rack
            tux
      and too-tight shoes,
   Jesus fidgets at the
               door,
     glancing at his watch
           every few minutes
   (always surprised that an
    hour hasn't passed since
    the last time he looked),
       peering, once more,
            down the road
            for signs of the
         stretch limos;

back in the kitchen,
   steam roiling around
   like cumulus clouds,
              Spirit
      mutters to the sous-chef,
   her breath sending the
         chefs de partie
      fluttering around,
            checking sauces,
            keeping salads crisp,
            banging lids and
         turning down flames,
      doing their best to avoid
           her look;

having polished the flatware
           for the hundredth time,
   and centered the arrangements
      for the last time,
               Abba
         sighs behind the bar,
   watching the fluted champagne
      flatten minute by minute;
throwing the bar towel down,
    the long-sufferer stomps
       to the back door and
       flings it open, hollering,
   'you cardboard box dwellers,
    you dumpster divers,
    you panhandling pariahs -
          come on in!
      there's plenty for all;
      bring your buddies!'

(c) 2011 Thom M. Shuman