Courtesy of Kevin Escate/Unsplash.
like the kid who knows
he’s a year too old
to sit on the mall Santa’s lap,
waiting in line anyway,
hedging his bets
to make certain that new dirt bike
is under the tree.
Which is to say, I am aware,
but not sorry,
about my concurrent desperation for
and disbelief in
some heavenly robber baron
peering down at his factory floor
from a high office window,
ready to deliver us non-union
hoi polloi whenever we cry out
for his benevolence. Right now,
I’m praying the woman I love
is not pregnant.
With God, I use the word ruin,
ignore the guilt that comes
knowing I am made in His image.
I told the woman I love
I’d go with her to the clinic,
pay whatever the cost,
but she says, no,
she says, we’re keeping it.
Fear turns every prayer
into a bargain.
Reader, am I more ashamed
of what I’m asking to be done,
or how you can see me
kneeling at the edge of my bed
with the limited omniscience
I’ve given you?
Because if you can see it, God can see it.
Silence, His answer also.