24 February 2009

The perennial favorites.

Let's just get these out of the way, since my (wholly imaginary) legions of fans demand it:

My Dog is Jesus Christ

My dog is Jesus Christ.
I can tell because he saves.
He kills the serpents in the yard
and digs them shallow graves.

The devil fears his holy bark,
he makes the demons flee.
They seem like beasts of hell to him
but mice and squirrels to me.

My dog is Jesus Christ, and I
am grateful for his service.
But when he turns and barks at me
I must admit I’m nervous.

He seems to think I’m of his flock
and it’s his job to herd me;
to shall me and to thou shalt not
and Lamb and Living Word me.

My dog is Jesus Christ, but I
must keep him in his place:
his is not to question why—
down, Faith! Roll over, grace!

[summer 1996]

On Morning Sex

Birds fight outside my window, and the sun
Through blinds drips onto calmly resting forms.
From out of sleep, where there was only one,
I struggle to awareness of a warm
Hand on my thigh; half-conscious I recall
The second in my bed (my cat’s the third).
Your hand moves. I turn, smiling, from the wall,
And take your waiting kiss without a word.
At night we bite, we scratch, we moan, we scream:
Too tired now for violence, we move slow,
Our sounds drowned out by birds; eyes closed, we dream;
And I end up on top, and you below.
Then we move faster, louder—oh God—too soon
We come, and then go back to sleep till noon.

[March 2000]

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