The Wheat and Tares of Indianapolis, Indiana

(by Daniel R. Jones)

Not so much
wheat as tares these days
if you ask me.
Best let Christ do the culling,

lest I damn someone
He wouldn’t damn.
There are humans
I have to consider:

the black women in checkout lines
who call me “baby” and eke
out the last drop of oxytocin
in my world-weary brain.

Grown men who can’t contain themselves
and whip out phones to film a murder
of crows as it darkens the sky,
countless as cares of this world.

Teenaged boys not yet grown
into their bodies, heaving themselves
perpendicular against a stalled jalopy
piloted by a perfect stranger to safety.

It’s those sort of people
I have to consider,
and if they tip the scales
and stay God’s hand

as He and I hash out specifics,
looking out on this jagged
city skyline on the cusp of
a desolate Midwest winter.

Perchance there lack five of fifty,
I ask.
Perchance forty and five are found there?


P.S. I’m currently accepting submissions for our Winter 2022 issue! I’m looking for original photography, artwork, short stories, flash fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, and lyric essays! If you have interest, please check out the Submission Guidelines here.

Each submission that is accepted for publication will be paid at the rate of $5 USD. Payment is upon publication. Bez & Co prefers to use PayPal to pay its contributors. If you need alternative accommodations, please let me know upon acceptance of publication, and I will work to find a solution.

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