Hostage

Sometimes a word fastens

Like a burr

To the gray folds of the brain

I picked up

Yegg

In a tangle of prose

And something in my head must

Like the way it sounds

Maybe because it rhymes with

Egg

Only more Yiddish

Or Seussical

But a Yegg

Is not a good egg

And if you meet one

You may have to beg for your life

Believe me

It's no fun being captive to a

Yegg

Yegg

Yegg

For Forty Years

The manna came

Congealed in the grassy

Backyards

Of the Hebrew migrants

Rising

Efflorescent

At dawn and

Dissolving

In the afternoon sun

Honey flavored

It would spoil after a day

Except on the weekend

When it would last for

Two

How long did it take

Then

To become a stale chore to the

Early morning gatherers?

How long before the

Bakers

Stopped seeing the significance in their hand-pressed

Wonder bread?

How long before the taste of the

Blessing

Turned their bellies

Bitter?

And when did God discover

(If indeed, God could discover)

That even daily miracles won't hold

Nomadic hearts