A priest in a documentary
is speaking of Jesus.
I close my eyes
and his voice reminds me
of Ringo Starr.
If Jesus had been 
the Beatles’ drummer,
to what would John
have compared them?

My cat’s up on
the TV stand, 
swiping at the screen
which currently shows
the crucified Christ.
She wipes her paw
over thorns and drops
of blood.  Is this
care, concern, 
hunger, curiosity,
or a lesson about
the humilty of Jesus?

I recall that
I once knew a woman
who had three pictures
on her living room wall:
one each of Jesus, JFK,
and Carl Yastremski.
Does size matter?

Where I live now
on Sunday mornings
I can hear the bells
of St. Gediminas, 
high on the hill.
All I feel at my age
is fatigue and irritation
at being awakened.
Does this count 
as a tribulation
sent by the Almighty?

When I am chided
for my irreverance, 
I think of my youth and of
the child-raping priests
in my parish.  I think
of my good fortune 
and the bad luck of 
some of my friends.

Am I being
irreverent enough?
How much disrespect
is not remotely enough?
What distance placed
between my former faith
and my present soul
could possibly be enough?