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,

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 hijab 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?