Body of Evidence

by Catherine Chandler

At odds about the odds the oxen sit.
Intransigent, they just don't give a whit
about the other point of view. It’s either
black or white (and maybe God is neither).

Then, on the middle ground, the reeds, who sway
from left to right, and right to left, will say
they bet it’s true, like Blaise Pascal, who in
his argument defined the term “win-win”.

And then there are the others, given pause
by ghosts and leprechauns and Santa Claus,
who wonder if there’s any truth behind
those close encounters of the creepy kind.

No DNA, no blood, no fingerprints;
we must rely on intuition, hints.
Yet circumstantial though the clues may be,
we hope for gifts beneath the Christmas tree,

we hope there’s gold beyond the rainbow’s rim,
we hope they come in peace. And as for Him
(or Her or It), in truth, the jury’s out—
no proof beyond the shadow of a doubt.