Flickering Red Lights

Any Tom, Dalai or Hare can meet God in silence. 
A downtown monk glimpses God in the flashing lights 
of the emergency vehicles parked by the ER. 

An urban nun hears God’s call in the screams 
of the police sirens. Each ear-piercing wail 
a cry for prayer for whoever is being carried 
or chased and for the one carrying or chasing.

There is always an emergency, 
someone is always sick,
someone is always being run down, 
there are always flashing red overheads. 

It’s too loud here for solitude, 
the angry blare of horns
the rumble of trash trucks 
those damned backup alarms

The stock market crashing
the sound of tax breaks cracking open oysters
and the pop of champagne
drives an ascetic to the edge of sanity.

Such are the votive lights and chant 
that inspire flares of prayer 
fired above the fray 
to berate the distracted God.  

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Images courtesy of WikiMedia Commons