Redemptor

Redemptor

I would like to see Jesus, Sir.
I breathe heavily against the even
heavier winter wind, my breath
puffing out like little white clouds
of smoke. The preacher-man
looks at me, and we pause
on the steps together, and I
am ever so cold. “I would like
to see Jesus, Sir,” I repeat,
tucking my warmly mittened
hands into my coat and waiting
expectantly. He smiles and nods
and says, “Come with me,”
and he leads me down the sidewalk
and he opens the door and all
I see is a line of homeless people
at a soup kitchen.

The End

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