FEEDING MRS. SOLIS
David E. Cowen
A shawled cicada
chisled in a squeaking rocker,
watching mass on a transubstantiated box,
squeezing, like popping beetles,
large black beads connected by silver,
while a small boy at her blue metal kitchen table
guietly unloads a brown bag of pink boiled ham
and Bumblebee tuna;
careful not to interrupt her holy moment
and lose the dollar
promised for his good deed.
