The above title, for those who aren’t historians or Lutherans, refers (if memory serves me correctly after having just looked it up) to a meeting in 1521 of the Diet (assembly) of the Holy Roman Empire in Worms, Germany. This creepy-sounding town is where Martin Luther ran – hence the name “Lutheran” – to respond to charges of heresy by the Pope and his popets, who were trying to make an ex-monk out of him. Luther (1483-1546) died this very month (February 18th, to be exact), but this post can’t wait until tomorrow to commemorate the day because, as you know, tomorrow never comes….besides which, the rest of this post has nothing to do with Martin Luther. Still, I wish to thank him for the part he played in providing me with a juicy title for my poem:


Chancing to glance out my kitchen
window one early spring morning, I
notice two robins in the yard battling
furiously over the prize one of them
has extracted from the ground.
Fascinated, I watch as the feathered
fiends fight to claim (you would think)
the last earthworm on earth. Finally,
one of the orange-breasted warriors
prevails, and the unlucky night crawler
is dead meat. I don’t know if the winner
was the one who found the worm first.
All I know is the worm was the one
who didn’t have much to say about it.


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