October Poem 27: That Old Narrative Jive

Waiting sharp and shiny on the forked end.

To stop thinking to the next good line. The

Darkness of the trek to your car was made

Even blacker by the blinding of the

Field lights through the choke of leaves in the trees.

Take off your God goggles and succumb to

The wispy lip of Mister Five O’clock’s

Geedunk van stalking neighborhood streets in

Search of unsuspecting children mostly

Reclaimed by a belief in a Christian life.

To understand a text. To believe that

You know the world. To understand that a

Cigar is just a cigar except when

It doesn’t jive well with your narrative.




September Poem 28: Christian Charity

Be it in exchange for an item when

The price doesn’t just round up to the next

Dollar, or just a handful from your front

Pocket for a beggar wearing a foul

Weather jacket on a hot summer day

Who is trying to make change for his next

Cheap pack of cigarettes or a baggie

Of crack rocks. Every human has the strength

To make change in the universe somehow.

But us kids were smarter then to show off

The new, cozy, air-conditioned hall of

The Church of Lefty. Who could handle the

Wafting odor of an unwashed crackhead

In the house of the lord? We sure couldn’t.

August Poem 42: Single Payer Healthcare: It Will Only Cost Your Soul

I was seeing its fresh Christian thunder,

Eyes that had seen the millennium set

On deep clay. Wearing what weren’t even

Tamed and pulled closed. The hospital gowns. For

Me, they brought two. The pale horse. Six foot four.

Two hundred and twenty-five pounds of grey

Flesh. Tie one on backwards and one on forwards

To haunt the white halls. To determine the

Bodily apocalypse waging. To

Be wheeled from one bright room to another.

To be prodded with cold instruments. To

Be fed through the center of a spinning

Machine. Modern inquisition to force

My confession. My forced resurrection.