A Slightly More Gory Story
I’ve never heard the story told my way
So today is the day that I’ll have my say
or at least a bit of it.
I replay the bit about that mud pit that that kid found himself in,
so desperate as to admit that this was finally it-
share the pig’s s*& or be Dad’s servant.
Finally an easy choice.
Still hard to execute.
Do you recognize the tale that I know so well?
Are the cheeks beginning to swell as you become sure this girl’s gonna tell you to repent or be sent — elsewhere.
“Come home” she’ll say-
“it’ll make your day, take your worries & cares away
Dad’s heart is extravagant.
besides, it’s better this way”
No pain, no shame, no delay in having it your way.
The symbol of execution around her neck becomes a bit more apparent
as you yawn at the *shtuff* she’s bent on presenting,
even without the help of a flannel board.
What an idiot, the little twit or a dip sh*&, too innocent to even say it.
Poor dear, what’s she doing here?
But I say, just today, just to play with the way that we think about symbols and tales and tell tale signs of the lines we all can’t help but draw about what we’re sure we saw in someone else.
The prodigal son
Just today I’ll tell a slightly different story.
One that perhaps ends a little bit gory?
Instead of that kid in the mud pit choosing to repent & let himself become servant to the dad he called dead;
instead of that dead dad throwing a very lively party for that dead beat son,
instead of extravagance for the kid who spent his inheritance
just for the sake of argument
so you can know what I meant when I began my lament
that this tale is never told
the kid dies
What if those pigs that ran off the cliff when
the bunch of demons called legions were sent in them
ran into him.
He went for a swim & his father heard about him & his untimely end.
What if- clearly just for the sake of argument,
he never had time to repent but his mind was already bent on returning home-
he just didn’t get around to it
What if that accident prevented the incident
that turned him around
in the end he didn’t repent.
What if that prodigal son never came home?
I’m just saying that a good dad that is clearly not dead wouldn’t hug a live son & disown a dead one.
Oh his neighbors would want him to –
just like there were many bitter souls unwilling to celebrate a deadbeat’s return, many more would be unwilling to mourn a
I doubt the dad would be one of that persuasion.
He’d mourn, call for the body, and reconcile himself with his kid
once the ignorant was powerless to resist.
The instrument of death I wear gives me a breath of fresh air
as I ponder the meaning of it