Once a week she drags her bones
from the warmth of her bed,
decorates her body,
her temple of hope and everlasting joy.
Bible tucked neatly into purse she walks
head high and mighty into her temple of God.
She prays and sings, praises and speaks in tongues.
Thanks God for the love in her heart
the love she has for man kind.
Tambourines still chiming in the middle distance.
Tomorrow she will call me a faggot.
Tomorrow she will call me a faggot
in front of my son.
Tomorrow I will have to explain to my son
that there are two Gods.
There is one God who loves unconditionally
and then there is the God those who cannot love
The second kind of believer thinks the
way they believe is truth,
and their truth is the truth.
Believe they were sent to smite you because
they doubt their Gods abilities,
doubt their God will see it the way they see it.
"Look" I will tell my son tomorrow.
"See how she works her magic hate.
See how she holds the slurs tightly between her teeth
the same place she keeps her prayers