They worship at the monolith of mediocrity,
The bland tower that the river of invention below
Cannot dampen, let alone flood.
And it shelters many.
Atop skeletons of common sense
And the blood of angry prophets,
It stands undaunted.
Even mosses and mold cannot surround its windows,
For it permits nothing new to grow
Except paunches on the servile,
Those who dwell safely inside,
Shielded from cleansing elements.
The sheltered gorge on platters of spiceless chicken,
Toss bones and gristle
Down to malcontents outside
And belch up homilies for each other.
Revolutions come and go below,
Markets boom and bust.
Genocides and pesticides
Befoul the waters outside,
But the monolith stands,
Oblivious and undaunted.
Copyright 2007, by Jon Gregory. Published in The American Dissident, Fall 2001/Winter 2002.