Trees bent over
like prostrating monks
to give us their fruit,
ripened like mischievous children.
Fish jumped up
from the briny deep
to give us
their slithery, twisting bodies
Plants welcomed
scythes and hoes
as we sliced off
their nutritious bounty
And animals, like drugged hippies,
docilely sacrificed
so, we could eat
their precious flesh
like His precious body
which we consume
as if it were
just bread and grape juice
Which it isn’t,
or maybe it is.
Who believes differently is
free to indulge in whimsy
and who doesn’t,
doubting Thomas that he may be,
Is no different in the long run
because what makes us
different under the skin
is where differences don’t show.