how about that pistol in my mouth like a cherry
on top of that sunday
morning, when i closed the blinds
so the missionaries wouldn’t know i was home.
there was a god in their motion detectors
and a little demon in my sadness
so they kept knocking, knocking.
and with my eye
molesting the peep hole in secret
with my eyes so deep you could stand in them
i went against my better judgment
and opened the door.
the sorry gasp of god is no stranger.
so i danced and danced. i do not dance with strangers.
i moved very suggestively, wondering
how long they would call it
Published in Penn Review Volume 46, Issue 1