I gave to God my leftovers
A mass on Saturday night, half an hour thank you,
between the ball games and morning tee's.
I gave to God my leftovers
A sentimental thought, a nostalgia from the glowy
Currier and Ives lithoprints of my past
(a little airbrushed, I know, but so very Hallmark),
church with the family,
sacraments from the old country,
Amen to all that
but no more:
couldn't stand the thought that I'd be called
a fundamentalist.
I gave to God my leftovers
a renovation of the New Testament
to make it a lot more appealing to the seekers,
the people who need liberated,
change the pronouns, level the leadership,
make the order nice and more, you know,
inclusive.
I gave to God my leftovers
'cuz I'm tired after all that TV
and its commands:
the Nephilim there, in nether space,
tell me, urge me,
to enroll my children in soccer and judo,
and spray their souls into the cyberious shadow
of lust and black flame.
tell me, they do, urge me
to watch, eagerly, with discipline
and iron rule, unwavering obeisance to dogma
as Simon Says on an Idol showing
in America.
(Swann, recherche but never knowing
du temps perdu,
is flying from the whiteness of the whale.)
I obey, without question,
the TV career
and I submit, neck bowed pale
as my head drops to slumber in chip dip and beer.
I gave to God my leftovers,
thank God He gave me His,
twelve baskets,
when only a crumb will do.
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