Come Casual

         Saga Of Mt. LeConte

Benign as a grandmother from

        distant sight,
White hair flowing to your waist,
Such a cruel and spiteful ploy
You played to mask your scowl

        etched face.

Miss Mt. LeConte, a spinster I

        would think
From your morose, unsociable posture,
Towering above, looking down, 

        judgmental,
Funeral garb draped to the ground.
Why would you need a man?
Even a backdrop of sun filled skies
Cannot disguise an anger you hold
Of encroachment, nor soften your

        virulent air.

How we mortals love the game,
Dominate, control, violate -
So began my quest to convert
Your insolence to lap cat purring,
An assault to you so pitiful as an ant
On a proven path, no leader,
No follower, just an ant.
Annoyed, you then, with the back

        of your hand
Of wind and snow and ice and rain, 
Reached to brush me from your skirt.

                            rlkilgore

 comment to  rloykilgore@gmail.com

Regardless of the church one attends,
    Or whether one attends at all,
Integrity and honor and all that is good
        Comes from a noble heart
              And not a religion.

                              rlkilgore