Resurrection on the Romance Express

You were radiant as a stained-glass Baptist window
when you held out the empty plate of your hungry eyes
for me to fill with the returned sign of my offering.
You said I placed in it only small change from the quarter of my heart,
trembling like a straw man before the risk-filled fires of desire,
not even enough to buy you one night’s lodging in a cold manger
“You’re not leaving me on a lonely cross for one,” you said,
handing back the nails with, “thanks anyway”
then climbing down from travail’s trite transcendence
to continue your search for someone who wasn’t
picking his nose during your 2nd or 3rd or next ‘coming.’
The heart must find the courage to make its choices.
Tonight I’ll rent ‘Trixie and Bubbles Fuck for Fun’ video
then go down to the Nob Hill tavern for
a fish sandwich and a plate of fries,
a meal I can afford,
that will fill me up without threatening,
because you were no angel either
‘counting the ways’ you needed me to shine
like your own private pearl.
But tears aren’t enough to fill anyone
and nobody’s perfect,
even Jesus found it quicker and easier
to resurrect the dead than the living,
besides there ought to be more signs posted
so you know where the hell the
church is and when you’re in it.