Tonight's Poet Corner: For God's Sake

For God's Sake
by Belinda Roddie

Don't rub hot oil on my head and act
surprised when there are blisters beneath
my hair. We used to play nicely on the
swing set of a lost Babylon playground, the stones
piled in poor men's monuments, and epitaphs'
words tied together with driftwood. Now

you find a snide enjoyment in the bruises
festering on my forearms - the rich man
partaking in the struggle of the artist,
the theist seeking solace in the weeping
of a surviving skeptic.

You can discover new ways to pinch me
to remind me that I'm not dreaming, and you can
easily send snakes on me praying that
I'll eagerly suck the venom from their fangs
through a straw. But for God's sake, don't

play the role of messenger when the scrolls
you carry are stamped with sharp brimstone.
The devil is in the fine print - you just
didn't read it thoroughly enough
before you signed it.