Interview Near Endor Years Later

                        He came looking for me, that king. He knew

                        what I could do. Later, his strength revealed

                        itself. He was tall. He was tired. I screamed

                        because a ghost arrived—they never do—

                        I call, but they’re just dead. I often dream

                        they come but—until that day—tombs stayed sealed.

                        The king’s poor head had no time to go gray

                        like mine. I killed a calf for him. He—stayed.

                        Don’t think I’m powerless. I’m not a fake.

                        But voices tickle air—that’s how I work

                        most nights. That time, a man I saw buried

                        stood right here. Forget it. Let me just bake

                        flatbread. That king’s dead now. Don’t get carried

                        away. Prophets—kings—they stay under earth.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Mark Mitchell.

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