Monday, April 2, 2018

Weekend Poem


Christ, he was nice guy,
Washing all those dusty feet,
Tending to the sores of the sick.
Christ, he liked the poor, the money lenders, the whores.
He hung out late night with outcasts and boors.

But they put him in a story book and made him
A hero with magic powers:
(Re-animator, water walker)
(Crown of thorns)
(Cartoon devils with horns)
(Priests and apses)
Christ almighty it was a terrible mistake.

It was never enough to just be kind and nice.
We always need our saints to be more.

We kneel and pray before bed,
Sprinkle (holy) water on babies heads.
But over there in the corner is a bucket.
It gathers dust, you forgot all about it.
Run some (tap) water.
Here’s some soap and rags.
Wait until the house dies down
And go silently from room to room.
Hurry, for Christ's sake, the sun rises soon;
They'll wake as if their feet have never touched the ground.


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