The Host

The Host is at the meeting.

Can see them there most weeks.

Time moves swiftly, all but fleeting.

Holds accounts the tongue that speaks.

The Host he smiles gently.

Just a simple subtle nod.

The tongue just rambles on and on.

Like they have the ear of God.

But the Host can’t still be listening.

Because he has heard it all before.

He is praying for the end to come.

Or some silence to endure.

He meditates on patience.

Imagines screaming mindless shouts.

The Host is out of virtue now.

There’s a humor in his doubts.

Dennis Mantin

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