The Incredible Shrinking Fool

Mountain lion! thinks Fool, just before he sees
it's Snuggles. When he stands, he's eye-to-eye
with the TV. The carpet pile's ankle deep,

moving toward his shins. "EEK," he Minnie Mouses,
music to Snuggles, who hears an evening meal
in the pile of clothes where his master stood.

Fool's now lost in the Grand Canyon
of his left loafer. 9 D, say colossal imprints
on the east wall, which smells like feet.

Then he falls through the molecules
of the sole, through a hydrogen atom,
then a quark, till he's a nano-step from God,

who, unknown to many, is infinitely small
as well as large and wise and good
and never to be told he seems

a lot taller in the Bible or on TV,
as Fool remarks. But, since infinitely small
implies nonentity, God feels free here

not to act the big shot, even suggests
Fool call him Peewee and play him
in a round of miniature golf. Tired

of omnipotence, Peewee offers to play
for the CEO-ship of the cosmos, then designs
to triple bogey the first five holes.

After the game, when Fool's sworn in,
the meek finally do inherit the earth.
For a while, even gluttons and bullies

find themselves saying "May I?"
and "After you." Everyone's a guest,
sipping bubbly at a rose-tinted window,

till Peewee, who dearly misses his toadies
and hit lists, harangues those milquetoasts
into worshipping the ground he scurries over.

As the trumpet of doom dumps its sour note
into the milk and honey, the rich regain
their leverage, the poor requeue for crusts.

It's back to square one, almost, with God
in his ShoeLifts and Fool unright with the world,
this time down to the remotest lepton,

though nobody gives much weight
to God's pronouncements anymore,
he's so small, and his tinny voice such a pain.

Copyright © 2010 William Trowbridge All rights reserved
from New Madrid
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission