jesus
I
Jesus isn't everywhere.
Tonight, he stops in Cleveland,
rents a hotel room with fuck-stained sheets
and falls asleep with the TV on.
In the next room, a paying customer
lays on his back, trying not to think of Charlene
as two hundred dollars worth of girl sucks him dry.
Her crucifix rests lightly on his balls.
II
Jesus isn't everywhere.
He drives past Nebraskan farms stretched lazily in twilight,
barns bleached bone-grey like
pubic hair of the elderly.
Behind one of these buildings, four boys
brutally twist the wings off a sparrow.
In the golden light of setting sun
Jesus weeps behind the wheel.
III
Jesus isn't everywhere.
His truck slides stealthy through Salt Lake;
he is careful not to make
eye contact with anyone.
He is almost recognized in Provo
when he stops for gas. He manages
to convince the man he isn't Jesus --
merely Jewish -- and shuffles away in a hurry.
