The Good Shepherd

If I were the neighborhood bishop 
There’d be lots of things I couldn’t really help with
No rolling up sleeves to fix Brother Nielsen’s car
No driving some new tractor to plow snow 
From the widows’ driveways 
No spring garden to plow 

No, if I were bishop 
I’d be huddled indoors with the weak, the old, the diseased
Where I belong 
Trying to get through the days 
Wrapped in quilts 
In shuttered rooms 
Hardly hoping to see the sun 
Anymore 

If I were bishop 
It would all be about breaking down inside 
Entropy of the collective heart 
Watching the walls come down on us 
Like we knew they would 
Almost considering the end deliverance

If I were bishop 
The ward would be an ox in the mire 
Soft pleading eyes that have given up the struggle 
The desperation behind us but still with us 
The legs tired out, useless 

This bishop would let everyone know 
It’s not all airy and light 
It’s not all muscle and hard work 
Life beats us up slowly 
With the inevitability of gravity 

If I were the bishop 
of the neighborhood