Resurrection Misperception

Every year they wait for me
And my divine perfection
They speak of the spring day when I
Will have my resurrection

But they don’t realize that they need
Not to wait anymore
For here I am this year just like
The many years before

I guess my form is disguised so
They barely do detect
Since I don’t really look like what
They have come to expect

One year I was granola formed
In a yogurt parfait
The girl just said “That looks like Christ”
And ate me anyway

Another time I came back as
A big filthy cockroach
Another as burnt offerings
On someone’s well done toast

A homeless man with shopping cart
And cardboard sign and cup
I tried to speak the scripture and
They tried to lock me up

Once as a punk with combat boots
Hair spiked every which way
The psalms did not fit to the tune of
‘Anarchy in the U.K.’

A street hustler out making deals
On cheap Armani suits
A worm, a rat, a sunflower and
Transvestite prostitute

And so each year I cringe to think
Of my wordly reunion
‘Is that the same mouth that you use
When you’re taking communion?’

But maybe this year will surpass
How other years have been
Perhaps this year I will come back
As a Kardashian

No goofy comment about coming back to life as a house cat!

No goofy comment about coming back to life as a house cat!

Spirit of Radio

Edith worked the overnights
She sat there all alone
With nought a one for comp-ny but
His relaxed dulcet tones

That somehow did emit a sort of
Subtle sexy growl
And she would join immodestly
For his signature howl

“A whooo this is the sly dog here
I tell you I don’t bite
But I’ll bark and growl and take you
Through the lonely night

We got some Pistols coming soon
And then the Violent Femmes
So be sure to tune in right here
At KHY FM!”

And Edith listened as Sly Dog
Would play her favorite tunes
Pretending he spoke straight to her
Beneath the waning moon

She’d answer all his questions and
Converse quite easily
With the voice she found on her
Radio frequency

But one day Edith spoke to Dog
Near had a heart attack
Because dear Edith was quite sure
That Sly Dog answered back

And she tested her theory sure
That something was amiss
Until he said it loud and clear
“Hey what it be, Edith?”

From that day on they chatted so
‘Bout all that suits their fancy
Like whether the Foos were all that
And whether Sid killed Nancy

And whether it’s Beatles or Stones
Or if Kurt’s recognition
Would be so if he hadn’t died
Or Fender over Gibson

And times when it was just about
The sun was due to rise
They’d get all philosophical
And just talk about life

Then one night Edith came to work
To Sly Dog said “Hello”
But there would be no answer back
She thought “Where did he go?”

She tried to find what happened but
All her attempts were thwarted
When she found that all Sly Dog’s shows
Were always prerecorded

But Edith bound back quickly
And not one to be depressive
Now she swears her new best friend
Is Flo from Progressive

This poem is dedicated to Wolfman Jack, Rodney Bingenheimer and all the overnight deejays who were there before overnight meant prerecorded.

Also thanks to Syl at Syl65’s Blog for his poem 10:55: You’re On The Air for inspiration.

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