HOT CROSSED BUNS

    in the bakery window.
    I stop to look at them there golden brown

    in sunshine cascading down
    over my shoulder. they look good.

    I love hot crossed buns.
    and then a shred of nearly forgotten history

    enters my mind. the Christians
    were successful in forcing the pagans

    to give up all their old gods
    with the exception of Priapus

    the god of fertility
    who legend has it was born

    to Aphrodite from the seed of Dionysus.
    Priapus was resented by Hera

    while still in the womb
    and she cast a spell

    and the child was born
    with a fat belly

    huge ungainly feet
    large bulbous nose

    fat tongue
    and an enormous cock

    which was continually erect
    and threatening. Aphrodite was disgusted

    by this cursed and offensive child
    so she cast him out in the wilderness.

    herdsmen took
    the rejected child in. they said Priapus

    had magical powers
    because everywhere he went

    animals began to fuck as if possessed
    and plants blossomed wildly and multiplied.

    so old Priapus
    became the God of fertility.

    centuries later
    the Christians tried to eliminate

    the myth of Priapus
    but the pagans wouldn't do it.

    he was the only god
    they insisted on keeping around.

    the pagans baked bread
    shaped like big cocks in homage to Priapus

    which greatly offended the Christians
    so they sanctified the loaves

    by notching them with three crosses.
    thus hot cross buns were created.

    I look at the hot cross buns
    in the bakery window and smile.

    I think about strolling in the shop
    and telling the owner about the legend

    but suddenly decide against it
    when I see a picture of Jesus

    on the far wall behind
    the bread counters.


    THE ULTIMATE NATURE OF REALITY

    Diogenes
    walked zombie-
    like
    through
    the streets
    of Athens look-

    ing
    for an honest
    man.

    detractors
    vilified
    his public market
    masturbation
    scene. done to make
    a philosophical state-
    ment: if only

    sexual hunger

    were
    as easily fed
    as an
    empty stomach.

    people
    called Diogenes
    the Dog
    because he said
    and did
    dis-

    gusting things

    in
    the streets
    over two thousand
    years ago. he

    yelled
    slobbered
    interrupted
    tongue-
    lashed
    cursed

    opponents in de-
    bate. his disheveled
    followers were
    called

    doggies.

    there
    is but one distinction
    and that is
    between

    vice and virtue

    said
    the old man
    from his

    tub

    where
    he lived

    naked
    simply

    in
    blissful dis-
    cord with the
    world. none
    of his
    writings

    survive.


    HERMIT

    can be
    a state of mind.
    right now
    it is in the upper

    nineties.

    I sit
    in here
    with the air-
    conditioner
    going. went outside
    to check the mail-
    box. nothing

    not even a bill.

    hermits
    are a bad fit
    in the corporate world.
    the other day
    I was told

    like a kid in junior high

    it would
    be a good idea
    if I tucked in my shirt
    while in the office.

    probably
    shouldn't
    wear

    sandals either.

    such
    behavior
    is improvident
    even on

    casual Fridays.

    really
    I have a problem
    remembering
    rules
    at

    seven in the morning.

    hermit
    can
    be a
    state
    of mind.

    it
    can
    also be
    a spiced cookie
    made
    with molasses
    raisins and

    nuts.


    CONFUSION

    is
    life. the new job
    did not turn out to be

    what I expected

    and
    cold April wind through
    windows

    as I have them open

    now
    drunk. got off the el
    and went straight to the bar.
    a house-
    painter named Tony
    bought me

    three shots

    and wanted
    to smoke bud in the alley.
    I demurred

    knowing

    the adverse
    reaction with alcohol.
    I feel old
    as
    Tony said

    are your thirty seven?

    life
    is confusion. seriously
    I know less now
    than I did
    when

    I was Tony's age.

    and
    poetry is more difficult.
    better but more

    difficult.

    the
    urge is
    to delete

    everything

    except
    Sarah the bar-
    maid

    so beautiful and young

    as
    Tony whispers

    she's an alcoholic

    and
    I nod
    knowing
    every-

    thing and nothing.


    click for larger view

tree and woman
tree and woman
television
television
stairs2
stairs2
shadows
shadows


     Kurt Nimmo lives in Las Cruces, New Mexico, with poet Elaine Thomas. His fiction, poetry, reviews, and other assorted writings have appeared in the small press over the last three decades. In addition, he is a musician and photographer. A selection of his photographs can be viewed at Passion 4 Art.

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