Rowboat

The priest or the deacon or the sexton
or whomever I was meant to listen
to astutely told me secrets about
God, that eternal Jerk, and I slighted
Him by lowercasing his Gs, Js, and
Hs until it hurt something awful
to look at his picture on the abbey
wall, the one he took of himself by the
hill while on his vacation or mission
or whatever the kids are calling it
these epochs, for if god is in the great
paintbrushes of the world, then all his works
are tremendous acts of sheer vanity,
so row me out of that museum, please.

One response to “Rowboat

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