Preacher Man
Maybe I should be a preacher man,
I know I’ve got somebody’s spirit inside me
And I’ve got the accent somewhere in my throat
I don’t need a theology, or a theodicy,
Just the appearance of something burning
Inside the testimony of my heart
Credentials? Nonsense, no need
For them to begin building up my congregation,
I’ll tell them we’re the chosen people
With three-piece finery and dark sunglasses,
Mixed in with sermons about social justice,
I’ll get the loyalty of left and right
Some may say I’ll resemble someone
Else who tried the same shtick some years ago,
The mad man of Guyana, Jim Jones
That’s preposterous, there’s differences,
We must take into account, Jim Jones was evil
And he had no mustache
©2020 Ben Nardolilli All rights reserved.
Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, The Northampton Review, Local Train Magazine, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is trying to publish a novel.
