MY JESUS IS NOT THE JESUS YOU KNEW

Greasy-haired freak still owes me 18 bucks!
Standing out by the servant’s quarters,
acting all shifty, polishing the good silver,
and waiting on a blind date with some chick
named Rosary...

I heard he was once Union, but the carpenters
let him go; too many nails per halo.
I heard his dance card for the spring fling was signed, “Infinite.”

I heard we should cut him some slack, that his endless bounty makes up for lack
of charm, or social graces. But I don’t know.
He seems like any other poor son of a bitch to me…