Keep Your Prayers Coming

A pillowy white beard

in dark sunglasses

hair slicked back

with silver streaks

skipped introductions—

so what do you think

of this latest stunt

with Osama?

This was not

a rhetorical question.

He was waiting

for an answer.

I stammered: I don’t know.

He continued: do you think

Obama is setting up Pakistan;

see two weeks ago them

Pak-ee-stan-ees

sold warheads to the

Saw-dees.

Now if you were the empire

what questions would you ask yourself?

This too

was not rhetorical:

if I was the empire?

Wouldn’t you be wondering

if there were any nuclear warheads

on that receipt? You don’t just

leave an empire. An empire doesn’t just

let countries quit.

His eyebrows raised

he leaned in

closed the distance between us:

I felt his breath

noticed a yellowed streak

in his pale mustache

above an unlit cigarette.

He whispered:

World War 3

Pointed to the door behind him

that I had been walking towards.

That one of them Rapture churches?

I’m looking for a rapture

to get me the hell outta here—

his tongue popped

finger pointed up—

when the bombs start.

Well it’s not one of those churches—

least not in the way you’re thinking.

I’m Jake, what’s your name?

Jim.

See I started studying these shysters

back in Vietnam—he winked at me

like it was a code word—

I’m glad you still got some sense.

Keep your prayers coming.

We’re gonna need ‘em.