I stroll Park Plaza, feeling my ticker
rumble, checking the babes and store prices
when suddenly a shaggy guy, flicker
in his eye like a werewolf, pounces, says,
Jesus loves you, man! My deadpan comeback’s
a ruse: Yes I know, for the bible tells
me so. His peepers blaze—exploding flak.
Sacrilege! he screams. Sinner! I repel
his grab, sweep away through the dull, faithful
shoppers, hearing his rage echo behind
me, past me, filling the concourse. I pull
out my cell phone, call my love. She reminds
me to meet her at Fair Voltaire’s Café.
We’ll gorge on fruit smoothies and cheese soufflés.
Roger Armbrust
June 4, 2009
