I am one at the tail of a line
linked with individual, hand-clasped,
notches. My wrist slightly turned,
the bold face of my onyx watch glared
with hands that seemed incapable
of much movement.
On either side of me, pews,
wooden waves flowing with prayers
from huddled believers…and my brother
whose own head bowed from sleep,
apparently having grown tired
from his watch face.
I feel vile, a poison floating
amongst the calm of hope, a boy
whose putrid ignorance knows no fault
but somehow I’m still capable of rising
to the alter. My father finished first.
He waited with a brazen smile.
The priest, peering right into me,
did not see the snake in the grass.
My head cocked, and while awaiting
body and blood, I connected with Christ’s
own eyes, high above the alter—nailed
to a cross; and, one thought escaped
If you were killed more recently
would I have a golden electric chair
around my neck?*
On my voyage back to the pews
mother’s lips beamed at me
probably because, on that day,
I chose to appease everyone.
*A reference to comedian Lenny Bruce.
**Just wrote this today.
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