Sticky beneath me,
this red vinyl cushion may explain
the sparsely populated dining room
and surprised look of the hostess
when I indicate a desire to dine in.
Of course, it could also be the collection
of gaudy gold Buddhas or
dusty display of ornamental fans
that encourage a brisk take-out business.
Whatever the case, it soon becomes my placemat
that glues me to my chair for on it
I discover this is the year of the goat,
or perhaps the sheep, I can’t quite tell
from the pale picture or Chinese character
which animal is to define my year.
Admittedly, I side with the goat and its agile frame,
wise eyes, strong mountain slope stance
laughing off the idea that a sheep, soft and stupid,
could rule the day, let alone an entire year.
Yet, as I pick at my sweet and sour chicken,
I recall that God calls his sheep by name
but commands the goats to depart from him.
What does he know here that I don’t?
Well, besides that you score
extra fortune cookies with take-out.
Copyright © 2019 by AJ Saur
Eighth Day Aches 