wait (Isaiah 40:21-31)

after
they pull the curtains shut
             around the bed
   (so we can have "some peace
              and quiet")
       and walk away softly
          murmuring their expertise,
   you
            stick your head in
      wearing that rainbow wig,
      the big red nose that
               HONKs when you push
                 it,
         those silly oversized
                     shoes,
   and, taking your seltzer bottle
            filled from the river of life,
      you squirt fear and worry (who
         had plopped themselves down
         in the bedside chairs) soaking
             them until they run down
             the hall, threatening to call
                     their lawyers;

finding our backs
               up against the goal line,
   wondering if we have any strength left
          after being battered and
                   bruised by that team
             filled with spots on the CT scan,
                bank foreclosure notices,
                   another job application rejected,
                that bully in the schoolyard.

   when the ref blows the whistle
            for the 2-minute warning,
      you gather us around you
          (Spirit going around to each
                             of us,
              giving deep drinks of
                     GraceAde),
        and looking deep into our 
souls
           you simply whisper,
   'have you not heard,
    have you not known,
       have you forgotten?'

(c) 2012  Thom M. Shuman