Who walks around in a living room on a shag carpet of gold, your name is so powerful that when they say G.D. all their teeth start falling out.

Every day I see someone taking off their coat of hate to come into your office.

I don’t have to peel off my bumper sticker when I vote for you because your government will never shut down.

Even at night when I have nothing left but a face to throw on my pillow,

I still see your office lights they call stars.

Every morning my hot bagel jumps from the toaster at attention because you have signed my paychecks.  You have paid my parking fees.

Help me to forgive the texters who run me off the road.

Keep my hands from the black rectangle that tells me where to go.

Lord, help my hands come together like husband and wife

holding nothing but each other as I ask to enter your country.

When my medals and necklaces tangle and the realtors tell me to gut the house, when my friends rot like pears in the ground and the bird of my heart is feathered out, you will finish all my sentences and clean out the crockpot of lies I tell myself.

You will carry me upstairs, because your back can take it.

And throw my alarm clock out the window.