Preacher spoke on holey underwear,
Relaying a story about dressing in the dark,
And where a message of love and tolerance should have been
He inserted, like some gilded phallus, damnation.
 
I’m hanging out with Grandpa and Jesus,
Parked on a busted couch in the alley behind LaRosas,
We’re passing time and joints, primo.
In discussion of life, the universe, everything.
 
I apologize to JC as he passes the J
For all the blaspheming I’ve done over the years.
He laughs, “Man, I gotta hand it to you, you pretty fucking creative,
You should write that shit down.”
 
He asks where it all went wrong,
The Holy Wars, the molestations,
Why the hell people think he’s white
And why that should matter anyway.
 
Grandpa shakes his head, unsure of if he disagrees or if the THC is kicking in,
“Boy, wouldn’t it piss them holy rollers off to know you’s a Mexican!”
We all laugh until we cry,
We laugh until it hurts.

Sal(a)vation
By: Eric Hagen