Sermons

I keep thinking
it’s going to stop
suddenly,
in pretty much the way I used to hope
the preacher
would stop pounding the pulpit
with his fist to strike a pose
with a long finger pointing
out at the congregation
at the breakthrough moment
where the souls are saved
and brimstone gives way
to ambrosia.

Sermon after poisonous sermon —

unworthy,
useless,
failed son,
fallen —

I always hoped
for a phrase
or a line to redeem me
before them all.

But the service ground on
with me unremarked
for direct salvation.
Always the implications, nuances
to chide me on, drive me deep
into the bench, sinking down.

If I was still
a praying man,
I’d be on my knees right now
for silence.  On my knees,
hoping to awaken
in the arms of peace.
I gave that up a while ago —

instead I think about stealing the Bible
and tossing it into a bonfire.
Nothing to hear there,
nothing worth trying,
not a second time.