Hand of God, sculpted by Carl Milles

by Linda Gamble

Seeker
Precarious perch
above Detroit street,
not  yet committing
to the palm, he balances
on thumb and forefinger,
free to fall, hoping to be caught.
Peering skyward, back arched,
he strains to see the One
who has reached down to
meet him,
who holds him aloft,
that he might see the potential
of his becoming.

Clowning Around at the IRS

by Linda Gamble

Behind the desk, wire frames pinch
the tip of his nose, a pile of 1040s
sit neatly before him. Phone rings,
he sighs, braces for the onslaught,
     denials
         whines,
               insults,
                   expletives.
then SLAM!

Next file surprises, Occupation: clown.
A white face looms before him, voiceless,
happy to see him. Large gloved hands attempt
to pull his slack mouth into a smile. a horn
is honking somewhere, a happy horn,
not the blare of the street. Confetti falls
to his desk, he smells popcorn, there are
jugglers. They balance files on their heads,
toss wireless phones, a calliope is heard
in the men's room. He investigates.

Before the mirror, startled hands fly
to his whitewashed face, squeeze
a rotund red nose, stroke rainbow hair,
snap a polka-dot bowtie. a smile
he recalls spreads across his face.
He carries it back to his desk,
challenges the incessant phone.

"Are you the clown who sent me this letter?"

"Why, yes, yes I am. Listen
have you heard the one about...."