A Place for Odd Fellows

Chimes adorn the altar

Your supposed place of peace

“None for the wicked,”

they have been known to say,

& also, “don’t speak ill”

But you must have been

one real bastard for

the ring those bells toll

Laid in lines together

with friends unknown

Rows & rows like the fields

you fled when you were young

I wonder how you’d feel about me atop -

or in the middle -

or at least in between

Rattle & whirl

I sift words onto this page

through the tee-hee-hee

of imposing birds,

listening to these chimes

you will never hear