The grudge sits squat and heavy
in the middle of the road between two people.
Built of solid rock by a team of experts
schooled in hurt feelings,
every chink is cemented with spite.
There are no windows or doors.
Unmovable as a mountain
it sits in the thoroughfare saying,
Newcomers to the road
smash into it unawares.
take long detours,
and shrug their shoulders.
Well intentioned reformers
come with pick-axes
and congratulate themselves
at the scratches on the wall
and the pile of tiny stone chips
after a day’s long work.
God shows up like a city planner,
declares that no permit was issued
and gives the demolition order.
“This is coming down. Now.”
“We won’t begrudge you your opinion,”
the people say, “But some things don’t change,”
their last words lost in the explosion
as the Spirit dynamites structures
built to last three generations.
As the dust settles and clears,
Jesus, rolls of blueprints at his side,
rumbles up in a bulldozer,
with a brand new site plan.