Praise You

Praise You

I heard from a mutual friend that you had a kid and I thought, great, another Republican born into the world locked and loaded.

Down here in blueberry land we gang up on the crossing guards. Two feet flat I never doubt I am the majority. My stiff upper lip can get pretty limp from its idleness but when I go back to Mississippi, oh boy, watch out.

I’m surprised you visit Austin. I bet your Bible boils in your back pocket along with your 420 cigarettes.

You hypocrite.

I never liked the way you pouted your lips at men you swore you’d never sleep with. I never liked how ashamed I felt at asking you for favors, even though we split the Claire’s Boutique best friend necklace straight down the middle in middle school and for a while there we never looked back.

You want religion? Try this: one day thou beautiful face will no longer erase thy ugliness underneath. Your racist thoughts and mean parts and the murky past you tiptoe around like a polluted lake will come rushing out like fits of rain in Noah’s chapter of the book written by the God you try to steal from people far more deserving.

Erin Passons, 10-2015
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