With his one remaining hand he gestures
Words and motions coming in fits and starts
and I play Dixon to his Navorski.
Furtively, futilely he tries to communicate
I know not what while
wishing for a “closed” sign.
Bastard christ in my heart
more Judas than Jesus;
when He sees the crowds He has
I just look for the door.
He groans in prayer,
I groan impatience
muttering behind my betraying smile
“God make him go”
The bookstore’s floors are cleared
for a late night polish
but it’s my heart that needs the cleaning.
Numb as my
fingers and feet.
would that I could blame chemo for this coldness.
Put me on a stage
with a book to recite
all will be impressed
but take this cup of man from me.
In mercy I excel, I’m told
“I will never deny you!”
but over me still the cock crows.
Now I understand better that look
as He turns and beholds
And with a tender look
rekindles my heart.