The Good News floored me. News that the flood
would come again —
‘get to your feet or forever
stay hooped, depending, upon your knees!’
Rudolph, my friendly lion, student, vegetarian assessor
roared to weep at my good news of the good news.
For days at a time he skulked about
muttering ‘Treason’ and other unmentionables.
‘What’s in a habit’ I asked, erecting the raft,
‘we’ve become the habit’ I argued
till my precision blew
the lamp askew and set the house alight.
Peoples of the street, the fire brigadeers, the
rescue crew kicked aside my cinders, stuttering
‘She murdered the lion! it’s bad news!
How are we to douse this up?’
And then I Knew, I finally knew
the power of flame be the Conscience
the ethics of the Arena be the Rubble
we cater to .
© Stefanie Bennett