Jesus Christ, son of God
In faded pastels,
Stared through me from his home,
Carved into a fry-cook’s arm,
While I waited for my order

Smashed
Like a Rorscach test
Smashed like a broken candle

He looked less like a stained-glass window
Than a piece of toast in a local newspaper

The bleeding watercolor image
Of God’s only begotten son,
And we’re all God’s children,
Or something,

So yeah, whatever.