Mary Langer Thompson

School of Hard Rocks

Tired of being called "Sissy," Sisyphus went to the school field each morning until he found the perfect stone.  His mother blamed the teacher for getting him excited about geology when he began to roll his pebble up the playground hill.  He really had nothing better to do, and no friends, except maybe Diogenes who yelled at him to stop, but Sisyphus couldn't make out what he was saying.  Soon he became obsessed and thought everyone expected him to push his rock, so never questioned his job.  As he pushed, the pebble grew bigger and bigger until it was the size of a boulder, having gathered old homework, low grades, and bully names.  At the summit, Sisyphus released the rock.  He hoped as it rolled down, before it was time to roll it back up again, that it would squash the school and everybody in it.

 

Rock Garden

You made it for me

out of birds-eye pine,

filled it with fine sand,

then cut glass

to fit on top,  

to keep the cat out.

I collected each stone,

one from Lake Michigan

when I revisited

from the west coast.

I remembered when I first stood

on its shores.

Others are reminders

with smooth words like

Truth.

Right now its gold letters

lie partially buried near

the Apache tear

in the vociferous sand.

 

Rolling the Stone Away

Five men, a jack, and a dolly

are all it takes to lift the

monumental block of

Thou Shalt Nots, to

wheel it away.

But the moving crew is impatient.

Joseph longs to meet his mistress

at their appointed hour.

Jim wants to finish moving his mother

so someone else can care for her.

Matt needs to confirm his Sunday 

flight to Vegas.

Paul fibs that it's too heavy for 

his weak back, while David

swears at the God-awful monstrosity.

Protesters shake Bibles, scream,

"Bring it back! 

Bring it back!"

But the men have other tasks in mind,

give one last push to the granite block,

send it to a back room.

Work complete, they leave together,

step out into the punishing heat.