when I was a small child,
my mother came home
from a yard sale
carrying a doll
that looked exactly
like me
“It looks just like you,”
she said, hugging it
whenever I was bad
out came the doll
she would throw it
against the wall
and I would scream in pain
“be good” she warned
years later, I came home
from a bad marriage
and many other troubles
she pulled out the doll
by then bearded and
pot-bellied, just like me
“be good” she repeated
and she plucked a beard
hair from its chin
as I winced in pain
His Holiness
the Mexican family
on the corner
is having a
barbecue;
I walk past
them and one
of the men
yells out
to me
“Hey Jesus!”
due to my
long beard
and hair—
this gets a
huge laugh
from the women;
I wish I WAS
Jesus, then I
could turn this
lukewarm bottle
of water into
some strong
red wine,
flirt with
their women
and steal
them all
away from
them
but I’d
come back
the next day
to heal them
of their
hangovers
and give them
and
their dogs
a pat on the head
goodbye
Marriage Inequality
up
the
ladder
to the
loft
where
we kept
our dirty
little secrets
where you
would
bawl
and
shout
and
my
angry
head
smoked
I fell
down
that
ladder
and
I
broke
us
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