MUSED
BellaOnline Literary Review
The King and I by Karen Sorbello

Poetry


Squash Saga

Lee Evans

The priest heard a disturbance
In the temple’s back yard,
Where the monks had planted squashes
And labored long and hard.

The gourds all screamed and argued,
Worked up to such a state
For and against the issues.
No monks could meditate.

“Hey, squashes, what’s the matter?”
The priest berated them.
“You’re not here to be fighting—
Everybody do Zazen!”

Immediately the creatures
Sat upright as in school,
And crossed their legs as bade them.
And soon their anger cooled,

While sitting just to sit
And breathing just to breathe.
“Now let’s play Simon Says,”
Spoke quietly the priest.

“Your hands on top your heads!”
The squashes followed suit,
And found a vine attached
To each from one same root.

“How strange,” they all exclaimed.
“Like cats and dogs we’ve fought,
We’ve argued and we’ve screamed,
But now we have been taught:

We’re sharing just one life.
What stupid squash are we!”
From thence the garden grew
Without ever sprouting weeds.

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