Preachers

They stand in front of the parking lot
of an ethnic grocery, on the sidewalk,
screaming through a portable amp
about how Muslims and fags will burn
for millions of years unless, unless
they let Jesus into their life.
I love their arrogance, their presumption
that their homophobic, xenophobic Jesus
could save anyone, least of all me,
who, as I walk into the store, they single out,
perhaps because of my sparkle,
presuming incorrectly that I am gay,
I can’t imagine they even know what pansexual is,
and, what’s even more humorous about this
is that the store is owned by Lebanese Christians
and half the people going  in are Christians
from other countries, and sure,
there are women in hajib and headscarves there also,
all of us, Americans and immigrants, coexisting,
our common interest our taste buds,
I have been gifted great cooking advice here,
how to use a particular spice I am looking at
or how to prepare an unfamiliar vegetable,
salvation in the form of civility between strangers.
As I leave they ask me if I have found Jesus,
and I remembered a cartoon and said,
what, did you lose him again?

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