The kingdom of heaven is like

a metal cart stacked with noodle bowls
circulating the first floor after service,
sloshing broth as it swerves
to avoid all the children who’ve
reached their limit in the foyer.

We greet the cart pushers in
several languages as they make the rounds.

This is what I think of when
someone wonders why I still follow
Jesus: It’s not because of tradition or
the wear and tear of habit or even
the promise of a life absent of hell.

It’s the daily walking, the come and eat.
It’s the feast we’ve all been invited to:
a meal that comes rattling toward us
simply because we’re here.