I missed my dinner date

It is all his fault

Last night 

I had a dinner date

And I missed it

It is Putin's fault

Of course,

He got in my way

Just would not let

Me go!

The supper date

Was with Christ

Himself.

Jesus Christ

Has a supper

Every year

It is always

Nisan 14

The same date

He held his last supper

With his disciples

Often pictured

In many religions

The Christian faith

Usually only includes

What they call Easter

Palm Sunday 

For the Pope

He declined

Due to failing health

To do anything

But sit and observe

While some of us

Actually put on

Our best clothes

And head out

Just before 

Sunset

As I did 

Yesterday 

But the day

Of Mourning

Issued by Putin

Put a damper

On my routine

I was a little bit

Early due to the 

Incoming thunder storm

I decided to return

My most precious thing

A brand-new suit

A knit sweater and skirt

Wtih stripes across

Was found in a larger size

Than I desired

I had been excericising

Three times a week

And dieting strictly

But staying in to watch

Those dreadful 

News reels

Of how many died

And this horrendous attack

On the city of Moscow

If it had been

Manhatten

Wtih the sky filled

With black smoke

Well, it was not 

America

It was the old East

Where the law was made

For those seeking

Peace from Europes

Non stop pillaging

Of all things of worth

What are we to say

Of such a simple matter

Of those who went out

For a night out

And got shot

Instead?

My outfit did fit

But it is that 

Tumor that keeps

Sticking its head out

Without constant villagence

It just protrudes.....

Besides Kate

Had worn someting similiar

And we just could not have that...

Standing there on the return trip

Just around the corner

From the ballroom

Where they were staging

Their yearly annual

Lords Evening supper

The wind wiped up

Something fierce

Black skies 

And an angry

Looking clouds headed

My way

While my new phone

Did not have its updates

I could not upload

An Uber or a Lyft

What was I to do

With a swollen throat

And two red dots

Along my Jaw line

Where those extractions

Have not healed

Now we all know

No one is allowed

To go out 

Nor attend a function

With a fever

We are still not

Out of the woods

With that little pesty

Pandemic

I worry about the next one...

Having studied science

For my dream

Archaeology career

All those years

I worked in Musuems

And Libraries

Only to be sent

On trips abroad

Where I ended up

Doing black bag duty

Forensic Anthropology

Is what I was awaded

What am I supposed to do

With an ME

Medical Examiner

I don't want to work

In the morgues

I want to investigate

Past cultures...

All because of

Mr. Putin's

Little war

Everyone has put 

A damper on things

And this last event

That even he was going

To attend

I knew there was 

Not a chance 

I would be welcome

With my asthmatic cough

More of a whine

Now than anything

I was not going 

To be welcomed

In their gathering

To share prayers

Nor pass

The red wine

And unleavened crackers

Undrunk and uneaten

Not since my great grandmother

Have I seen someone

Partake of the emblems

Of those who have 

Inherited a place

In heaven

This is the supper

Or place in the events

Of Jesus 

Where he made a new

Covenant or will

With his apostles

And those closely

Associated with him

24 elder chairs

Would be awarded

Twelve apostles

Gained a victory

Over death that night

One they could not

Understand in the days

That followed.

Even my Inga

Was told to go 

Home from that 

Horrible place

Where they always

Assume they are superior

In their lack of wisdom

Who heard of going

Grey to prove they have knowledge?

Which is why

She left the last

Of five generations

Introduced

By the then 

President of the

Watchtower

The inheritance

Which had come to her

And she had walked

Upon as a young girl

Before she married

And the world changed

With the coming 

Of the Twentieth century

Some little storyteller

Named Candy

Said she had heard.

From a little kitten...

Poor little 

Jacque

Never had a chance

Had her died black

To match the other side

Then lemon juice

To make her go 

Blonde

Never a day

Of joy

But full of sorrow

Our sad little lady

Not a Princess

Sitting quietly

On a bench

But an Empress

Hidden away 

In a dark room

Still waiting 

To be found

By the executors

Of those wills....

Just call me

Aurora

The goddess of the sky

Missing an appointment

With Christ

Is not a good thing

But I had to walk home

Without an umbrella

Into a thunderous atmosphere

Going to catch my death

Of cold and hatred

Grandpas Jack

Little mewing kitten

He discovered on the beach

Where she had been deposited

Not by the sea

But her mother herself

Perhaps Putin

Can put things right

By rescheduling

These events

In about thirty days

To have another chance?

I do wonder 

What the next group

Did after ours left

Just after sunset

Is the first group

Who attend

Then there is always

Another one who get

To linger over the emblems

After we had first chance

This group

Here in my area of town

Are not those newbies

Spanish speaking communists

But the old guard

The Russian speakers

Who slip away from 

Thier families

Into the dark night

To attend a Christian supper

I was once one of those

Russian speaker

In old Russia America

Now called California

Still waiting for our Tsar

To return to us the Empire

Instead we watch the news

For hope that peace

Has prevailed.

That one day

When Jimmy picked

Me up and rammed

My head into a rock

I have lost all my 

Language skills

Shamed by the bastard girl

Sitting there with a better

Eloqoution that I was taught

My stroke has left me

Impaired but not stupid

Once fluent enough

To work at the United Nations

Now just sadly going

Through my days

Without any evening dates

Except the one

I missed last night

All because a man wants

To keep his country

From becoming 

Someone else's colony...