a poem about money and god

inspiration did not strike like i thought it would
in the shower, or while driving

i was running
it was a hot september day and i was wearing short shorts
and running past a church

legs bare
gams flashing

a father saw me and then saw his son seeing me
his precious son
he pulled the boy close and covered his eyes
and then, from his pocket
procured a small bottle of holy water
dabbed the water onto a hankerchief
and with that, drew the sign on the cross on the young boys forehead

i am sorry my son
i am sorry that you had to see this

it was a few blocks before the realization hit me
like a ton of bricks

we have to sell moist towelettes that are pre-soaked in holy water

_


the logistics proved more complicated than our initial estimates

the anointing was no problem really
though i'd imagined that would be the biggest road block
a priest in full garb
hand extended over a stainless steel tank

in the name of the father and the son and the holy spirit

the real problem was the moistening solution
and its interaction with the sealtite packaging
but we figured it out in the end

_


it turns out that so many people wanted this
and weren't being served

to so conveniently tear open a foil envelope
and wipe the brow clean of sin
they had been waiting and waiting

my fortune grew massively
i was not a religious man
but God certainly smiled down onto me

nodding approvingly as he tipped more gold into my cup

you've done a good thing my son

-

i met my wife at a gala
you can only attend a gala if you're fabulously wealthy
and as we were were dancing, she whispered in close

"what is it that you do?"




atm1