Inflation

rerun from two years ago (of a poem written thirty years ago)

Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

God’s eye stares into the midnight sky
of the dark universe at the bottom of my trouser pocket.
My fingers beak like an early bird
toward God’s home, the worming dollar bill,
and pull it out into the blinding supermarket light.

The cash register stamps out the vowelless syllables
of His name in whom we trust.
The lovely checker is my priest and confessor,
transubstantiating the fading green
NOVUS ORDO SECLORUM ANNUIT COEPTIS
at exactly the rate of inflation.

And the Twinkies I buy today
cost a few cents more than a month ago,
but I have traded God for these Twinkies
so I know they are worth much more.

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