“Elixir”

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

A curious creed is the norm by which

This republic rolls forward on Cadillac hoops

Sometimes I think about raising a stink

But quickly realize that there is no use

It’s a game controlled like a circus act

With performers vying for the attention of eyes

The one who boldly shouts with glee

Will receive a ransom, recognized

The validation seen and heard

Comes from a pantheon of precious pricks

Needlepoints that pierce the skin

And inject an elixir, expertly mixed

This treatment prescribed by dudes on deck

Trained and taught in the carnival school

Learning how to herd the flock

With a staff shaped by the golden rule

Few can see beyond the veil

Fewer can argue about the cause

But at the end of this patriot parade

There’s a finely printed, legal clause

One that gives up details in dots

Carefully arranged on a soldier’s shroud

Mapping out a hegemony, in force

Before speaking all those truths, aloud

Boasting bravely, above the crowd

The champion of this show delights

In holding sway on the grandest stage

A plateau perched behind the lights

His arms raised in a victory vee

One that cannot be mistaken for loss

He’ll hop a train ‘round the midway track

And finish with, a festive ring toss

The decoy is a live-action spree

A shell game, sleight-of-hand illusion

A trick of light and lies, reflected

Usefully usurping the logical conclusion

A clear head might tilt back in awe

A strong will could rightly prevail

Yet generally, the yield of service

Is a bovine squeeze in a galvanized pail

A bit of honey, milked from the bee

Enough to feed a hungering gang

Who give supplication to a sire

That will later be, convicted and hanged

Statues stand upon this spot

Bearing testimony to the deeds of men

Tomorrow they’ll fall upon the earth

Only to be resurrected, again

Roulette wheels spin and chart

The progress of a proper population

Groomed and guided to the target

Where arrows fly, with much elation

The bullseye hit, the wrong is righted

Stains go pale with a bit of bleach

The memories of battles borne

Disappear deep into the breach

The republic rots when neglect is nigh

Therefore, the garden must be tended

If needs arise, those stately sots

Will see that the constitution is amended

Gavels swing and bells will chime

To mark this achievement of regulation

A cadence kicked by combat boots

A metronome for the nation

No tears my friend, it is not just

To cry upon the graves, alone

While dismembering their sacrifice

Like scattered stars and broken bones

The final rest is ours to seek

And ours to lose in a sweet release

Of exhaled breaths and exalted dreams

A penance paid for warriors of peace

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 20: Revelation

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

 

Sunday morning at the Dadisman Road Christ Fellowship Church was lightly attended, due to winter weather that made traveling up the winding road a challenging chore. A few vehicles were parked in front of their main building, with more across the road where an old schoolhouse once stood. Others came from neighboring homes nearby, because it had proven to be an easier trek using a tractor, or on foot. Yet the sanctuary resonated with lively conversation, and greetings being exchanged. It was a venue founded on faith alone. Otherwise, the little chapel was not known for any social standing among peers in the county. It did not attract visits from travelers, elected officials, or notable citizens. But as Parker Redman arrived, he could feel a sense of kinship with the unfamiliar flock. The group exuded authenticity, and kindness. For the first time in many years, he did not feel out of place in such a setting.

 

Quietly, he took a spot on the last pew, with the tattered copy of his ‘Bible for Bikers’ in hand. As the worship service began, a song leader stood in front of their pulpit, and called out a number from his sacred collection. The chosen hymn was ‘To the Work’ by Fanny J. Crosby. One instantly familiar from past days spent listening to his father preach to believers in the Ohio Valley, and beyond.

 

“To the work!

To the work!

We are servants of God

Let us follow the path

That our Master has trod

With the balm of His counsel

Our strength to renew

Let us do with our might

What our hands find to do

 

Toiling on, toiling on

Toiling on, toiling on

Let us hope, let us watch

And labor till the Master comes.”

 

 

The schedule of their gathering had been altered slightly, because although enough members were in attendance, none of the regular speakers had been able to get through snow and ice that hampered the meeting. So prayers, scriptures, and a cappella selections were alternated to fill the span. When it was time for communion, men from the congregation took their places at the Lord’s Table. A fellow dressed in faded denim, with a longish, gray beard, read from the Word of God. Then offered a humble petition over the ceremonial feast.

 

Luke 22: 14-20, “And when the hour was come, he sat down, and the twelve apostles with him. And he said unto them, With desire I have desired to eat this passover with you before I suffer: For I say unto you, I will not any more eat thereof, until it be fulfilled in the kingdom of God. And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and said, Take this, and divide it among yourselves: For I say unto you, I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God shall come. And he took bread, and gave thanks, and brake it, and gave unto them saying, This is my body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me. Likewise also the cup after supper, saying, This cup the new testament in my blood, which is shed for you.”

 

Parker felt his chest tightening. He whispered the familiar phrase under his breath, which was carved into the front of their wooden table.

 

“This do in remembrance of me...”

 

Those who were serving dispersed the cups of grape juice, and matzos, among everyone in the pews. Heads remained bowed with reverence. Then, the senior officiator spoke in a solemn tone as he concluded the ritual.

 

“Separate and apart from the Lord’s Supper, we now take up a collection to support the benevolence of our church. Give according to your ability. We ask that God will bless us, as we support those in need, and continue to do his work.”

 

Normally, there would have been someone to offer a Bible lesson before the invitation was given, an appeal to those who had not yet received the Holy Spirit into their hearts, and been baptized. But as that dramatic moment arrived, there was some confusion. Elders of the group were not represented in a sufficient number. No other clergyman had been appointed, after the death of Solomon Ike, their spiritual anchor for over 30 years.

 

With a hint of hesitation affecting his voice, Parker stood up and clasped his copy of the good book in one hand.

 

“Friends, I might be a stranger here. But let me introduce myself as a son of Pastor Podmore Redman, who traveled extensively throughout this state and others in the region. Some of you might remember him, as a scholar and theologian. Or perhaps, as a volunteer at soup kitchens and county fairs, cookouts, and ramp dinners. He performed many weddings and funerals around West Virginia. But I knew him by a simpler title. I called him my papa...”

 

Silence filled the sanctuary. Krista Pearl was seated with cousins from the local community, but she did not draw attention to herself. There were a few gasps of surprise as he strode forward, to the lectern. He opened the biker volume gently, and took a deep breath before beginning to preach.

 

“You might notice that this translation is the NIV, the New International Version. Now, like many of you, I grew up with the King James Bible. And that rendering of the scriptures is still familiar. Part of my foundation as a young believer. Right at the roots of my experience. But I want to be clear for this new generation. Because the word needs to ring out not just with old-timers and those of a longstanding faith, but also, with the inheritors of tomorrow. I’ve seen plenty of church groups go by the wayside, because their people got old and frail, and there was nobody to take over. And part of the guilt there lies on those like myself. Yes, I turned away from the message. I confess that sin, here and now, in front of you! But there’s a candle lit somewhere, deep in my soul. A spark that could not be extinguished. Not by fate or misfortune, or a refusal to obey. That is why I came here, to share fellowship, and this sermon, with you. I am a backslider, stained and dirty. Not an example of goodness or light. I do not deserve any respect and would not want anyone to follow my path. If you might have also fallen by the wayside, however, then I want to say that the forgiveness of a loving God has not forsaken you. Let me read from these dog-eared pages, if I might...”

 

He turned to a passage that caused tears to drip from his eyes.

 

Ephesians 1: 1-10, “Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, To God’s holy people in Ephesus, the faithful in Christ Jesus: Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will – to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us. With all wisdom and understanding, he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times reach their fulfillment – to bring unity to all things in heaven and on earth under Christ.”

 

Parker raised his hands overhead, as if to awaken the entire assembly, at once.

 

“When you hear that message, what does it mean? Did Paul intend to speak about half measures, or a limited-time offer, a one-off deal maybe? A special kind of pass given to certain individuals, but not others? I ask you to read that verse again. ‘To bring unity to all things in heaven and earth under Christ.’ All things, it says! All things! Ponder the might of that promise, brothers and sisters! Does it sound like a sales gimmick? Like something you would hear buying a used car, or a timeshare? No indeed! It is the word of a loving savior. The word of our creator, handed down. It is our reason to worship here today. Because those who have strayed from righteousness, and allowed themselves to trade the light for darkness, still have hope. That hope lies in the gospel. That hope lies in embracing the truth, and proclaiming it openly, as ministers of the word. Even when we have fallen short of his glory...”

 

Members of the congregation were stunned. To hear such a message from someone they did not know was enough of a surprise. Yet to hear it delivered by a shaggy, sloppy, tattooed rebel in a leather vest and chaps, was unbelievable.

 

The song leader stood up as if on cue. He began to wave his hand like a choir conductor.

 

“All things are ready, come to the feast!

Come for the table now is spread;

Ye famishing, ye weary, come

And thou shalt be richly fed

Hear the invitation

Come, whosoever will;

Praise God for full salvation

For whosoever will...”

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 19: Suggestion

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

 

The hillside above Bodean Pringle’s garage presented a challenge of sorts for his cousin, who remained huddled in the repair shed for several days. Heavy snowfall in that part of West Virginia had turned the slope into a skiing venue of sorts. But after drinking all of his whiskey reserve, and finishing work on the Harley-Davidson chopper, Parker was ready to seek human interaction once more. Perhaps if nothing else, for a ride to some convenience outlet where he could purchase more liquor and smokes. His mood without the comfort of those vices was never friendly. So, before pangs of withdrawal set in, he decided to make the short trek to his familial abode, on foot.

 

With layers of clothing, boots, gloves, and a Carhartt beanie for protection, he scaled the incline, using trees, and a fireplace poker to facilitate this climb. When his footing became too slick, he fell backwards, cursing and coughing. Then, redoubled efforts to reach the intended target of his mission. He could see a yellow glow of illumination through the back windows. And hear grandkids laughing and running through the house. Everything outside was frozen. Even an old pump fixture by the porch had a frozen drip hanging from its spout. A bird feeder left exposed was covered in ice. Nothing about the environment seemed friendly or appealing.

 

The wandering loner slipped, sputtered, and staggered forward through this landscape, for over a half-hour. Eventually, his bones ached and he was sore and surly. But with determination fueling his walk, he reached the homemade steps behind his cousin’s shack. There, he hammered on the plywood wall. Gasps of surprise sounded from inside. And then, the rear entrance blew open.

 

Angelette shrieked from the kitchen hallway.

 

“Y’all gotta be nuts, stayin’ down there, Feesh! Why didn’t ya take the spare bedroom with us, up here? It’d be a whole lot more comfy than that rollaway from the Salvation Army! That thing ain’t been used since my grandpappy died! He stayed with us before we moved here to Grafton.”

 

Parker shook off melting snow like a frosty canine. He was red-faced and out of breath.

 

“I do better by myself, to be honest. But thanks for the reminder about your invitation. Truth is, I was hoping to catch a ride into the commercial district. I’m in need of some supplies for my hideout...”

 

His cousin’s wife smiled sweetly. Then, tilted her head sideways, while thinking.

 

“Weren’t ya stayin’ with that lady from the travel plaza? I kinda figured maybe it was good fer both of ya, a hookup that’d mend yer broken hearts!”

 

Her combative, relation-by-marriage shrugged and lowered his head.

 

“Yeah, well, I pissed off some friends at the Nazarene church. Something clicked in my head during the Sunday service. I had to stand and make a testimony of faith. But my act embarrassed her badly...”

 

Angelette went wide-eyed and gestured with disbelief.

 

“Y’ALL WENT TO CHURCH, BOY? I BEEN TRYIN’ TO GET BODEAN SCRUBBED UP AND CLEAN ENOUGH FER WORSHIP WITH ME’N THE GRANDKIDS. BUT HE JUST WON’T GO! NOW, IF THE BOTH OF YA ATTENDED TOGETHER, THAT’D BE WONDERFUL! A MIRACLE SENT BY JESUS HIMSELF!”

 

The motorcycle hermit frowned and averted his gaze.

 

“I burned that bridge for good. Sorry about spoiling your opportunity...”

 

From the other room, he heard his cousin exclaim with a string of four-letter words.

 

“DAMN, DAMN, DAMN, YA WENT TO CHURCH, FEESH? REALLY? I DON’T BELIEVE IT!”

 

Parker unzipped his leather jacket, and sat on a chair at the dinner table. Melted snow trailed from his chaps, on the linoleum floor.

 

“I’ve been having strange dreams lately. And drunk visions, but not the kind I enjoy. I thought that maybe a visit to the church would clear things in my head. You know, solve the riddle so to speak. But it just stirred up muddy water. It caused me to remember why I separated from that way of life in the first place...”

 

Angelette adjusted her wire-rimmed spectacles. Then smoothed her striped apron.

 

“If y’all wanted to have a look ‘round local churches, I coulda helped, Feesh. The ones right here in town are too regular for yer tastes, I’d reckon. I know how ya think. And all those tattoos and long hair don’t sit well with mainstream folks. But there’s a little congregation up the road a piece. It’s outside of Philippi, in Barbour County. I’ve got kin out that way. Those people wear NASCAR duds and T-shirts, while servin’ at the Lord’s Table on Sunday. They come in pickup trucks and old Chevy Suburbans or Jeeps, runnin’ on big tires. Some even drive their 18-wheelers and park across the road. They had a pastor who was still in his pulpit at over 80 years old! It’s a shame that he finally went to glory land. Anyway though, y’all can sit with people who look like yerself, and sound the same, too. They don’t judge others. They don’t get their noses in the air about blue jeans, or black boots, red bandanas. or anything. It’s a in a community center started by coal miners. That’s where y’all would feel welcome. That’s a church where ya would feel at home, I reckon!”

 

Her contrarian relative folded his hands and leaned over the table edge.

 

“I had another one of those visitations last night. After emptying my last bottle of Kentucky hooch! My father appeared, and he read a Bible scripture. The one about Jonah, and his refusal to obey a commandment from God. His voice rang out clearly, just like when I was a youngster, listening to sermons with my mama and siblings. I never expected anything of that kind, when getting to the bottom of a whiskey bottle! But there it was. When I woke up this morning, the concrete floor had turned deathly cold. The propane heater ran out of fuel. And I was out of smokes and drink. Not even any of that horrible, instant coffee left. That’s why I decided to climb the hillside. I figured that maybe, you’d show me some favor. A bit of mercy in this blustery season...”

 

Bodean shouted from the living room. He laughed and hooted while offering a bargain.

 

“I THINK YER LOOKIN’ FER SOMETHIN’ MORE THAN THAT, FEESH! IT AIN’T MERCY FROM ME OR THE MISSUS Y’ALL NEED. IT’S THE KIND YA GET FROM A HIGHER POWER! OR THE KIND YA GET FROM LOOKIN’ IN THE MIRROR, AND COMIN’ TO TERMS WITH YERSELF! THAT WOULD BE MY SUGGESTION! THERE YA HAVE IT!”

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 18: Hideout

  

c. 2926 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

Bodean’s garage hideout was chilly when Parker Redman arrived back at the hillside hideaway. Snow had drifted around all four sides of the repair shack, with prevailing winds teasing the wintery mass. So, after arriving on foot, once he had managed to hitchhike most of the way back from town, he faced shoveling out the short driveway just to gain access. That chore left him numb and out of breath. But once inside, he ignited the propane heater, stripped off his outer garments, and poured a glass of Wild Turkey 101.

 

The foray into unfamiliar territory with Krista Pearl had been a mistake. One that served to confirm his own reclusive habits, instead of negating them with worship. His heart had hardened since this mistaken adventure occurred. Now, he could only think of the eventual change of seasons that lay ahead, and riding his Shovelhead chopper across the ridge, and onto a main thorofare out of Grafton. He wanted to regain his perpetual motion, and purpose for being alive. There would be comfort in his escape. Something he anticipated eagerly. Until then, only being secluded and alone offered any relief.

 

He took out a container of metal polish and a shop rag. Then, carefully and lovingly, began to detail the customized, Harley-Davidson. In between parts of the motor and chassis, he smoked stubby, Camel cigarettes to soothe his mood. Each inhalation of charred tobacco made him cough and curse. Not out of anger or spite, but instead as a validation. He had nearly been tempted to embrace the old traditions of his family, again. Yet being jeered and hounded at the Nazarene church, upon confronting their clergyman with a scriptural selection, had stilled that impulse. He could not deny his true identity. Fate had stained him with sin and a wanderlust that could never be satisfied. To do battle with himself, and with the history acquired over years of judgment, was pointless. He could not change his skin.

 

He was the son of Pastor Podmore. But not a mirror image of that respected figure. His flaws were too obvious to be cloaked by any trick of theological magic.

 

The rollaway bed was not so comfortable as his ladyfriend’s pillowy furnishing. Indeed, it was much more like a jailhouse rig, with a thin mattress and hard springs. But it supported his body efficiently. He fell asleep with the taste of bourbon whiskey still on his breath. And butts stomped out on the concrete floor.

 

While unconscious, he dreamed of childhood days spent listening to his father proclaim gospel truths from the pulpit. Those lessons were always delivered with verses read from a King James Bible. The antiquated references contained therein were regal in character, if a bit nebulous at times for the ears of a young lad. Yet word by word, he could remember each passage committed to memory.

 

Jonah 1:1-12 “Now the word of the Lord came unto Jonah the son of Ammittai, saying, Arise, go to Ninevah, that great city, and cry against it; for their wickedness is come up before me. But Jonah rose up to flee unto Tarshish from the presence of the Lord, and went down to Joppa; and he found a ship going to Tarshish: so he paid the fare thereof, and went down into it, to go with them unto Tarshish from the presence of the Lord. But the Lord sent out a great wind into the sea, and there was a mighty tempest in the sea, so that the ship was like to be broken. Then the mariners were afraid, and cried every man unto his god, and cast forth the wares that were in the ship into the sea, to lighten it of them. But Jonah was gone down into the sides of the ship; and he lay, and was fast asleep. So the shipmaster came to him, and said unto him, What meanest thou, O sleeper? Arise, call upon thy God, if so be that God will think upon us, that we perish not. And they said every one to his fellow, Come, and let us cast lots, that we may know for whose cause this evil is upon us. So they cast lots, and the lot fell upon Jonah. Then they said unto him, Tell us, we pray thee, for whose cause this evil is upon us; What is thine occupation? and whence comest thou? What is thy country? And of what people are thou? And he said unto them, I am Hebrew; and I fear the Lord, the God of heaven, which hath made the sea and the dry land. Then were the men exceedingly afraid, and said unto him. Why hast thou done this? For the men knew that he fled from the presence of the Lord, because he had told them. Then they said unto him, What shall we do unto thee, that the sea may be calm unto us? For the sea wrought, and was tempestuous. And he said unto them, Take me up, and cast me forth into the sea; so shall the sea be calm unto you: for I know that for my sake this great tempest is upon you.”

 

The voice of his father continued, after this dramatic reading.

 

“Son, do you remember this Bible story? That is a rhetorical question, of course. I know that you do. But now, I ask that you reflect on it, from an adult perspective. You recall why Jonah was put into this position. His own choice to disobey made it happen. And the result might have ended his earthly journey, in that terrible storm. But that was not his destiny, not the will of a loving creator. By receiving a second chance, after languishing in the belly of a great fish, and following the commandment of Almighty God, he found his place. I ask you in this moment, have you found yours? Are you safe and satisfied, or merely tossing on a tempestuous sea? Consider the message, and believe. I know that in your heart, that spark of faith has not been extinguished...”

 

Parker fell out of bed abruptly. The slab floor bruised his knees and elbows. It took a moment of concentration to gather himself, and stand up, again. Outside, a winter gale was howling. He could hear the garage timbers groaning and creaking from the severe cold.

 

“WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE? THIS MAKES NO SENSE! I USED TO ENJOY GETTING DRUNK! I USED TO LIKE IT A LOT!”

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 17: Protest

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

 

After attending worship services with her house guest, Krista Pearl returned to work at the Mountaineer Travel Plaza on Monday morning. But right away, she could tell that there was something amiss. A palpable chill in the air between herself and other members of the team. Normally, she would engage in good-natured teasing with fellow employees, as they took care of truckers and tourists. But now, most of her friends at the job-site stayed silent. Customers arrived and left without attempting to make conversation, or offering compliments and comments on the services provided. She could feel that her presence was being questioned and analyzed. Yet the business day continued without any incidents.

 

After the morning rush, Sally Roak appeared at the coffee station to fill her Mega-Mug. She visited the truck-stop almost every day, for caffeine enhancement and cigarettes. Her appearance was dated and out of style. So much that some might have considered her to be a female hermit. But she had lived in the area for a long period. Everyone knew her by name. And, she attended gatherings at the Taylor County Nazarene Worship Center, faithfully. When pausing at the front register, to make her purchases, there was an edge to her raspy voice. She did not hesitate to speak openly about what had happened on Sunday.

 

“Girl, why’d ya bring that rough character ta church? He didn’t look like somebody who’d sit and listen ta any Bible talk. My goodness, how many tattoos does he have? I think ya could do better fer a boyfriend. Y’all are pretty enough. That’s just my opinion.”

 

Krista flushed red with embarrassment. She knocked over a display of courtesy cards.

 

“Mama S, that fellow ain’t my boyfriend. He just showed up on his cousin’s doorstep at the start of winter. Ya know Bodean Pringle? I guess they are related somehow. This man told me that his daddy used to be a preacher. We kinda hit it off, havin’ drinks and talkin’ about nothin’ in particular. Anyhow, I felt bad fer him bein’ stuck with his Harley chopper sidelined fer the season...”

 

Sally went wide-eyed and pale.

 

“HARLEY CHOPPER? DOGGONE IT, WHAT’RE YA THINKIN’ THERE, LITTLE MISS? DIDN’T THAT NO-GOOD, JAILBIRD OF AN EX-HUBBY CAUSE ENOUGH DRAMA IN YER LIFE? I CAN’T SEE HOW YA’D HAVE AN OPEN MIND TOWARDS SOME FOOL WITH INK ALL DOWN HIS ARMS, AND GRUBBY, DIRTY HAIR ON HIS FACE! Y’ALL KIN DO BETTER, I THINK! A WHOLE DAMN LOT BETTER!”

 

The long-time cashier grimaced at this unkind description. The protest buzzed in her ears with a prickly vibe of condescension.

 

“I don’t think any of that fits him! He’s gentle and thoughtful, more than you might believe. I felt bad with him livin’ in a cold, cinder-block garage. That’s no place to spend January and February in these parts. I just reckoned on bein’ neighborly, that’s all. No more or less...”

 

The mature woman snorted and snickered, while collecting her change.

 

“Okay, sure, whatever ya say there! I’d just keep in mind that he sure ticked off Reverend Hageschutte! Not ta mention the church elders and deacons! That stuff don’t happen in his services. He’s used ta bein’ praised and followed as a leader. I don’t know what game yer boyfriend was tryin’ ta play, but it didn’t sit well with anybody. Not inside or outside of the sanctuary! God and Jesus still matter here, we ain’t like people in New York or Los Angeles. Not like fancy folks in San Francisco, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, or elsewhere! And missy, that’s not yer style, either! Ya grew up right here, in the hills!  Ya stayed here, ya raised yer boy here!”

 

The younger resident nodded in agreement.

 

“Yes I did, Mama S! I did it all right in Grafton. I’ll probably die there, and be buried with my kinfolk...”

 

Her critic took a sip from the Mega-Mug. Then stuffed the fresh pack of smokes in a hand-tooled purse, slung over her right shoulder.

 

“Ya might wanna talk ta the pastor. I’d think an apology and a prayer request would be proper. That dust-up in the center aisle was way outta line! Give it some thought, girl! Think about it real hard! I hope they’ll show ya some mercy! Good luck, honey!”

 

Krista sighed heavily, as the cranky, old patron took her coffee and departed. There was a long line of visitors that stretched from the front counter, to their hotdog rollers. Background music reverberated with modern hits of Country & Western performers. The plaza stayed busy until past noon, and later. Happily, this made the hours pass by at a quick pace.

 

After her scheduled shift had ended, she gathered her coat and gloves before going out to the employee lot. The yellow, Jeep Wrangler had been pelted with snowballs, and plowed into its corner space. She cursed softly when noting that a frowning face had been scraped into a layer of ice on her windshield. A sign of discontent that echoed what she had heard before.

 

“GAWDAMN IT! MY NAME IS SHIT NOW! I NEVER FIGURED ON FEESHTAIL STARTIN’ TROUBLE IN A WORSHIP SERVICE! WHO’D HAVE SEEN THAT COMIN’? NOT ME, NOT ME! ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS PLEASE HIM WITH A SUNDAY OF DOIN’ GOOD! I THOUGHT IT WOULD PUT US BOTH ON A BETTER PATH! BUT LIKE ALWAYS, IT BIT ME IN THE ASS! I CAN’T WIN FER LOSIN’! I JUST CAN’T WIN!”

 

When she arrived home, the ranch-style shack was quiet. She did not hear the television, or a radio playing. A search of the kitchen and bedrooms revealed nothing. Except that seemingly, her guest had decided to make an exit while she was busy earning her keep.

 

On the dinner table, there was a handwritten note. Scribbled in pencil was a single expression of gratitude. Reading it made her eyes go wet. Then, she crumpled the square of paper in her hands. It was not enough of a goodbye to satisfy her curiosity, or need for companionship.

 

The single line was drawn in cursive letters.

 

“Thanks. See you again, sometime...”

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 16: Worship

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-26)

 

 

Sunday morning at the Taylor County Nazarene Worship Center turned out to be predictably busy. The church was not far from where Krista Pearl lived, and she sometimes heard other employees at her jobsite mention attending services at that location. The group had swelled in size during recent years, with over 500 active members participating. The spiritual head of this communal enclave was a clergyman who came from a school of preaching located in Mississippi. His fire-and-brimstone approach to gospel truths resonated well with believers who needed a contrast from the worldly inclinations of regular folk. Yet when their number was increased by the truck-stop clerk, and her biker companion, a palpable reaction of surprise and suspicion echoed in the sanctuary.

 

Parker Redman sat stiffly in a back pew. He recognized several of the song selections, but when their pastor rose from his spot, to begin offering an inspirational message, there was a drastic change of mood.

 

Reverend J. Fortrell Hageschutte towered in the pulpit. He had the physical stature of a professional athlete. Both tall and generous in girth. Though balding slightly, he affected a stylish coif with careful grooming. His suit was dark blue, with gray lapels, and sharply tailored. He wore a red necktie. Once his address to the congregation had gotten underway, he projected a master’s command of Bible scriptures, and dramatic effects used by many public speakers.

 

“This morning, I’d like to speak about the fires of hell, brothers and sisters. A subject that too many squishy, new-age preachers like to avoid. Hell is real, I tell you! Hell is a place of eternal damnation. Hell is the landing zone for those who reject righteousness and the commandments of Almighty God. Hell is at the bottom of a slippery slope. Hell awaits, for people who make excuses, and try to fine-tune the Word of God with feelgood ambiguities! Hell is there for anyone who forgets their faith when trends and fashions change popular ways of thinking! Hell is ready to punish and condemn! Hell is hot! Hotter than hot!”

 

The flock reacted accordingly.

 

“AMEN! AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!”

 

Krista gave a sideways glance to her partner. She could see that the hard tone and steely logic of this sermon was striking the roadgoing loner as an unwelcome inflection on holy themes. He shifted his position several times, without finding comfort where he sat. Finally, there was a whisper between the two visitors.

 

“Feeshtail, y’all have a darn funny look in yer eyes. Don’t make a scene, boy! I didn’t come here to be embarrassed in front of friends from the travel plaza! Just sit there and listen, maybe it’ll do ya some good...”

 

The reverend continued after mopping sweat from his forehead, with a monogrammed handkerchief.

 

“Hell is the reward for anyone who fails to stand with leaders who defend the faith, and faithful citizens. It is their inheritance of evil. A just punishment which will never end. A fate described many times in the scriptures. Many. many, many times! I stand with godly men and women! I stand with protectors of this nation and its keepers! I stand against the slide into debauchery, fornication, distributing falsehoods, and the lure of sin!”

 

Again, a chant of obedience buzzed from wall to wall.

 

“AMEN! AMEN! AMEN! AMEN!”

 

Parker remembered listening to his father lead services at various churches across Kentucky, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and the Mountaineer State. He knew many of the references by heart, even after years of withdrawal. But the voice ringing in his ears had a sharp timbre of breaking glass. The proclamations sounded partisan and ugly. Not in keeping with how Jesus addressed potential followers to humble themselves, and believe. Even some who had strayed far outside of social and theological boundaries.

 

Krista frowned visibly, as she listened. Fear caused an ache in her belly.

 

“Don’t move a muscle, Feesh! If y’all can’t take anymore of this, we’ll get up and go. I kinda wondered about comin’ here anyway! It was yer idea, remember?”

 

Parker had exhausted his reserve of patience. He threw aside his leather, motorcycle jacket, which left both tattooed arms exposed. Then, he picked up the Bible for Bikers manuscript, confiscated from his cousin’s garage.

 

“Brother, have you ever really felt the joy of Christ in your heart? The joy mentioned in John 15, a joy that is said to be complete?”

 

Hageschutte gasped upon seeing the shaggy, ink-bearing roughneck approaching him from the center aisle.

 

“YOU THERE! FOR WHAT PURPOSE DO YOU RISE? TO PROTEST, PERHAPS? THIS IS A DISRUPTION OF WORSHIP, SIR! NOT AN ACT TO BE TAKEN LIGHTLY! I ASK YOU TO SIT DOWN AND BE STILL! SHOW RESPECT FOR GOD AND HIS PEOPLE! SHOW RESPECT FOR THIS HOLY PLACE AND OUR TRADITIONS!”

 

The wandering misanthrope opened his strange manuscript. He began to read loudly, so that everyone who was present could hear.

 

John 15: 1-17, I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit – fruit that will last – and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you. This is my command: Love one another.”

 

He closed the tattered book, and folded his hands.

 

“What does the good word say, brother? It says love, it says friendship, and it says joy. I didn’t hear any of that in your screed about hell. There’s a reason that Jesus spoke as he did, to his followers. What reason do you have, for standing here this morning? Is it a love for your fellow believers? Or Christ and his kingdom? Or maybe... nothing but yourself? I ask you to think that over, and pray.”

 

Silence fell upon those who were in attendance. The reverend sputtered and shook, but could not regain control of his event. With a grunt of indifference, he simply sat down on the front pew, while church members began to sing.

 

Krista covered her face with both hands. She had tears in her eyes.

 

“Doggone it, Feeshtail, y’all just made us look like a couple of fools!”

 

“Target”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved
(1-26)

 

Strike the target, send in our drones

Install a Pharoah on his throne

Nation-build, it worked before

Aircraft carriers go to war

The Middle East, a tinder box

World affairs, a school of hard knocks

Lesson learned and then forgotten

We inherit wages, harshly begotten

The hour is late, so we lament

Having witnessed the fall of a government

Without the care of predisposition

We might have influenced the crowd condition

Yearning for a free exercise

Of rights and rules, under a glistening guise

Of a shepherd’s staff, leading the way

With the hope of allies on a better day

Whatever case we made was right

It is our place, our Yankee birthright

To choose and chase as we see fit

Until our next leap into the pit

Our intentions have always tilted well

With no indication of an earthly hell

As the righteous rise of wrath is spooled

Consequences kick like an angry mule

The stable stalled with rotted grass

And eventually, soldiers leave, en masse

Heads turn and shake, with damning doubt

And we wonder what it was all about

A plan of action at the ready

A mission sent out, slow and steady

What is right does not appeal

The can is crushed, under a bootheel

Pluck the jefe from his lair

Leaving the cupboards, cold and bare

Fly on wings that mechanics made

Soldiers pumped-up on Gatorade

Swinging fists and rifle butts

High-tech implements that dig a rut

If our leaders are smart and strong

We’ll leave with more than a victor’s song

Perhaps the gold of an oil tycoon

Or the finest wool, spun on a loom

Whatever prize, that is deserved

A bounty for those that bravely served

Skyward sparks light up the dark

Champions cheer in the public park

A protest spat in the background shot

Cameras capture this conflict, hot

Who is offended by a show of force?

Only the fools who have been divorced

From logic and the line of thinking

Given with a one-eyed winking

It is too much for me to grasp

So, I turn instead to my drinking glass

The television screen is bright

That electronic marvel stays up all night

I sit and watch, and learn in time

As pickled pundits swim in their brine

The jar, half-empty, this is declared

At least the nation was rightly spared

No more fulfillment of a curse

No better maybe, but not any worse

That Roulette spin is a privilege, prized

As prime ministers and presidents roll their eyes

Those lowly of birth, such as myself

Must sit and wait, before restored to health

Yet that duty is not a burden to bear

If I switch off the set, it cancels my cares

A blank screen is all I see

It eases this mood of urgency

A Judas kiss betrays the host

Of faded dreams and silent ghosts