I had to piss so bad I could taste it.
A blue pick-up with flashing orange lights
blocked my shortcut home
so the bucket truck
could place the lineman
right where the squirrel had been fried.
My detour to Main seemed minor
until I hit another roadblock:
a squad car with its red lights rolling.
There was some sort of parade
coming my way as if they knew
how to thwart my bodily functions.
"Jesus Christ," I told my bladder
as I pulled down a one-way
to circumvent the hold-up.
And there to my left
between two city blocks
I saw Him, cross beared
and surrounded by Roman soldiers.
It was Good Friday
and the Knights of Columbus were bored.
By the time I drained myself
another six thousand
had been converted worldwide.
We're all behind the Eight
regardless of shared guilt.
I'll pay for my own sins
since the triumph will be mine.
Currently reading:
"No Easy Day" by Mark Owen.
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