OLD TIME RELIGION

She loves him as only a Christian woman

can love a man; crucifies him with love,

bears witness to love, kills him with devotion.

She is called Jude -- & she sings

Jesus Loves Me with a power that

promises He’d darn-sight better.

Her husband leaves at midnight.

She turns in her bed, naked & warm,

to hear him at the gate. Outside,

snow thick as white oleo lies

in slabs under moonlight. His cat crawls

from under the truck & ducks inside

for warmth as he slips out to cold, brisk air.

“Jason” she cries. His blue eyes flash

fox-like as he bolts, with her in pursuit.

His foot pumps the gas & the engine turns

over. Doors locked, he shifts into gear.

Across the snow she runs, breasts bobbing,

legs sprinting, moonlit hair flying behind.

His shoe presses the pedal, as she leaps

on the running board. Her ravaged face

presses against his window, a gargoyle

mask of furious despair. Her mouth makes

"Jasons" in the air; wide toothy soundless

screams against the frosty glass. With arms

embracing steel, her body hugs the cab.

When he picks up speed, she screams,

lets go, falls back into the snow,

chest heaving at the moon, & lies waiting

for the cold to melt her rage.

Her sobs assault the quiet, country night,

curses pitch like arrows after a truck

long out of sight & sound. She knows

she’s seen the last of it and him.

In the crisp light of morning, freshly bathed,

and smiling with resolve, she takes his cat

to the pound & goes to church.

Published in Dead Mule