In the 34th hour of
my 40hr community-service stretch,
the Reverend made me
wash his new Ford
while he sat on a lawn-chair
& watched.
He was soon joined by Martin–
I learned his name in
my 36th hour unloading desks
with ‘im.
He’s not a criminal–
maybe a Union employee
to the Lord; I’m a scab.
Martin’s younger than me;
fatter, nerdish, clean-shaven.
I’ve got an 11 day beard, and
am wearin’ a U.S.S. Cod shirt–
the same one I was arrested in.
I envision takin’ him out
afterwards, gettin’ ‘im drunk
& encouragin’ him to steal
a flower pot, an American flag
& a sign that says,
Welcome to Unionville.
They just stare at me when
their conversations nose-dive.
The Reverend yells at me
for putting towels near a water-puddle.
They may have a
clearer phone-line to Christ
than me, but I know what
makes another human being uncomfortable.
I haven’t wanted to slug
someone so much for 2 days.