There are no more Gods
Still, I have mine.
I ask my Gods for help
And I curse them
I have them in the trees and the rocks.
I was busy, thinking about cigarettes and architecture,
Standing on the side of a road
An old man pulls over in a small truck.
He hobbles out of the car, one leg shorter than the other.
A pretty dark eyed woman
Maybe his wife, younger than he is, sits in the passenger seat looking frightened.
“Do you believe in God?”
He asks me.
My mind races, what answer should I give him?
It would thrill me to say no-
To say something mean about it all-
But I say yes I do.
“Good!” he says pleased, and then invites me to his Church.
As he drives off, I watch the woman in the cabin. She is pretty, her skin shines like money.