what used to be water

Christ is coming
around again, not
Sunday this time,
or Saturday. It's
Tuesday. Christ
is waiting,
before the door.
Right on time,
like a thief
in line for the next
teller.

He has not knocked.
He awaits at the door.
Who then shall answer?
Well,

it's my fucking house, so
I guess that's me. Hello?

"Peace be with you. Do
you have some time today
to speak together with
me about God?" Sure thing!

Come in, sir.

Sit down.

"No need
for the sir," he smiled.
"I'd like to tell you
a little about my ministry.
It won't
take long"

- just cut it right there,
please. Miracles! Buddy,
cut to the miracles

, says I.

He sighs.

Soon enough I'm regaled by
wonders, and rolling on the
floor from the parables.
He's turning fish into stones,
juggling loaves of milkhoney bread
telling stories like the pharisee
and the samaritan
walked into a bar
and I'm all stocked up
on gallon jug jars
of what used to be water

I love that guy!

He can come around anytime