The Supplicant

I sit at priestly table
Imbibing an early lunch
Of chicken soup and bread,
A heel now bruised, unleavened,
Remnant of last night’s supper.
On tiny tapping pads
The supplicant approaches,
Stands beside my chair,
Eyes turned toward heaven—
The smell of chicken soup.
The supplicant rises to place
Both paws, crossed, on my thigh,
Penitent eyes pleading
Forgiveness and a crumb.
Reluctantly, I break the bread,
Dip a morsel in the broth
Then hold it out before the nose.
This offering of bread and soup
Is measured in one gulp.
The supplicant drops down
On all four paws again;
Pink tongue licks her muzzle.
Renewed, patiently she waits.
“Only one host per communicant,”
I liturgically intone.
Nonplussed, she trots to
The far end of the table
Seeking sustenance from
Another priest.



One comment on “The Supplicant

  1. td says:

    It’s never a good idea to allow a German Shepard to beg for people food … they can sometimes confuse the people for the food.

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