My Father

By

Phillip Chidavaenzi

  

From the gold-tainted pulpit,

You preached,

From your voluminous Bible,

Still you preach – love, respect

Love,

With passion,

You preach

Respect,

With compassion,

You teach

 

But at night,

To me

For a ‘treat’

You come

You whisper like a snake’s rattle

As I cower under your battle

 I am torn,

You groan

Between my legs

Your stiffness licks

Even as I weep.

Jesus carried his cross,

But are you my cross?

Jesus bore its weight,

But night after night I bear your weight

But you are my father

But are my pastor

On Sunday from the Bible you teach,

Yet midweek ‘satanic verses’

Between my sheets you preach. 

© P. Chidavaenzi,

Sunday July 24, 2011.