Strong Enough to Look in the Mirror and Declare, “I Like You.”

On-Being-A-Champion

He plucked a scab from his elbow
Dropped expired fibrin into a breeze-
The contorted discolored splotch
Hung in the air for a second
Then flew listless like a feather.

And his eyes were clean.

“What are you doing?” I said.
As he sneered,
Flapped his gums
Like a horse puffing a whinny.
“I am going to dedicate my life to Christ.”

I thought of:
Plastic Rosaries.
A Gideon Bible gutted
To conceal paraphernalia.
A lie told during Confession
Out of boredom.
Christ-like behavior
That ellipses miracle, or song.

What this had to do with him-
With his pockmarked face,
Scaly and a dedication
To
Sobriety & Christ.
Provided a night
Of glancing at windows
Each time his reflection
Occupied the glass.

But we’re all insecure,
It’s a struggle to remain independent
When conformity placates the self
And Christ
And etc…

So I gave him Christ-
Watched as he stood on a soapbox
Spun on a candidate’s persona.

Sometimes I walk by and see him there-
As I do
I avoid eye contact.
I provide any messiah
With the same courtesy.

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