The Master's Table Poem by Joe Fraccalvieri

At the Master's favorite restaurant
His servant promptly arrives
He hands the Master a menu--
a checklist of our lives

Every soul's a story…
Each of us, a song…
Everyone's a puzzle piece
yearning to belong

His special dish is usually fish--
freshly grilled--
garnished with parsley and chives

On the table is unleavened bread
made of egg and unbleached flour
But before the menu is even read,
He squints His eyes-- changes His mind--
and asks for rolls instead
then waits for the bread to rise

A bottle of wine, briefly chilled, is brought to him--
He sniffs the cork
Instead of the salad, He orders soup--
which He eats with a fork--
the salad had bitter endives
He loves the smell of salty meat
but He doesn't eat pork…
He says that it gives Him hives

He carefully looks over the menu--
that chronicle of our lives
We are legend, lore and fable…
We are truth mixed-in with lies

Arranged on the Master's table
is an assortment of sharpened knives
that He will use to choose what He chews
to quickly devour at life's final hour
or to put aside that which survives

Is there anything else I can get you?
No thank you-- just bring me the bill
Would You care for some dessert?
Thank you, no-- I've had my fill
But place the debt on all mankind,
for indeed, they anger me still

There's no need-- it's done!
He's back from the hill-- your son
He's honored your will…
Over Death, he's won

You won't have to ask of him twice…
Because through it all--
through trials, big or small--
He's leaned on your loving advice

In short-- and I'm certain it will suffice…
He's gone ahead and settled the debt
by paying the ultimate price