preacher's kid blues
Robin Steele

give me jesus
and a cup of that rich
episcopal coffee, daddy,
then bless my ass and
send me out the door

write me a letter
from heaven,
just like jesus, and explain to me
how you could
ever sandwich
all that fear and
isolation,
things you always
hid inside
your liver, down
between those
holy broken
saltine crackers?

didn't we eat those
daily?

then help me figure
out why jesus
lives inside pale
crackers, but the
coffee's just for
socializing -
and the devil's
always, always
in the grounds

father, please, I
really want to
know these things -
cross my heart
i do

your tomb may not be
empty, daddy,
like the blessed
saviors' was, but
damn it's just as
cold and goddamn
silent

Copyright 2000 Robin Steele