Mages and Minions

Along the drive to the store
there is a church at a central stoplight in Ellenton
which always seems to play a hymn on its carillion
while I wait for the change
from red to green. The bold announcement sign
displays six words of comfort before the vestry.
My etymology voice asks
Whence this word majority? How does it come to be here
fresh from the mouths of politicos, reframed
to celebrate inner peace? And so the logos meditation goes
my mind a butterfly flashing
gaily from milkweed to porterweed, happy not to have the tall, blue
volumes in the office at hand -
the breakdown begins
in mind's eye: first, witness a marching band
majors and majorettes, smartly signaling
musicians, next an officer in uniform
and my involuntary chuckle as I remember
Sgt. Major Minor at Fort Knox. And then I'm swept away
to some dustbin, mystical Persian country
where on a high platform Mages
gaze down upon their minions. Ah,
what sweet comfort, indeed,
to know God and one are a majority.