Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Gospel Noir


Jesus loved us and gave himself up for us
caught my eye on my way home from the bank,
trailer marquee in front of a church canted 
like a ship on a wedge of snow.

My grandparents had a picture of Him 
on their wall, WASPY, aquiline nose 
framed by wavy brown hair, earnest beard 
of the singer-songwriter, cornered,

desperate in this telling, a version 
I made up at the long light at Main
and Rochester, parting torn curtains 
with a snub nosed pistol on the second 

floor of an abandoned building, maybe 
a defunct sheet music publisher or 
actuary decamped to Boca Raton.   
Search light beams casting shadows on exposed 

lathe, bullet stopping properties of a 
four drawer file a matter of faith. “Amscray", 
he says, jabs a thumb toward the back stairs, 
"steer clear of the train depot", flips us a stack 
of double sawbucks, blames tear gas for his 
waterworks.  We melt into the night, 
“don’t shoot, don't shoot, I’m coming out!”
trailing us like a high hosanna.  

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