Behind the Revival Tent

Behind the revival tent

Bobby Jones's hands wandered hallelujah-happily

up the inside of my thighs while Brother Ernest

pounded the pulpit and Budweiser and Amazing Grace

took me to glory.  To the inside of Bobby's blue jeans

where I closed my eyes in reverent contemplation

of male flesh so alive, so sweet in its dark

and musky secrets that I was suddenly bare-breasted

before the Lord Almighty come to save my weary soul.

Amen, brother!

Show me the way to zippers and elastic waistbands.

So many arms and legs, we seemed to multiply like loaves and fishes.

A disciple to my ministry, Bobby became a fisherman,

a deep sea diver moving with the grace of God.

Feeding me with his spiritual gifts,

I spoke with the tongues of angels

and was made to cry out, "Oh! God, oh God!"

Just as I am without one plea on the dusty bed

of my daddy's pick-up truck under stars and sky.

Under the influence.  Praise be the Lord!

May He bless you and keep you, and make his face to shine upon you.

Absolutely!  Amen.

Originally Published in Plainsongs Spring 2000