“And the Philistine cursed David by his god.”
—First Book of Samuel, 17:43
Goliath, by cursing David, denies David’s God,
intending by this to rattle him, for he’s a heckler.
Yet he’s also David’s cousin, descended from Orpah,
the sister of Ruth, three generations back.
To the spectators, he’s the Philistines’
big slugger, their clean-up hitter, their Mighty Casey.
David is the rookie pitcher, the phenom.
He’s the fireballer, with his sling and stone.
Goliath is a primordial creature, armed with a sword,
a spear — long and heavy as a weaver’s beam —
and a javelin of brass. He’s like the Cyclops
whom Odysseus killed by burning out his single eye
with a sharpened, red-hot stick of olive wood.
David slings a stone into the center of Goliath’s forehead
that stretches him out, face down in the dirt.
Yes, David beaned him. One pitch — lights out.
They played the game rougher in those days.
This poem won an Honorable Mention in the 2011 War Poetry Contest, sponsored by Winning Writers
