In the middle of town they stood on each corner
yelling words they believed to be God’s.
Their silent wives held signs as if crosses.
The pictures of Jesus dripped Ashouran blood.

Yet another tear parade.
(We have all been wronged.)

Mohammad and Jesus in an elevator stuck.
Would they battle or avoid the others’ eye?
Embrace as a force of love?
Divide the world like bloody soul pie?

I would bet on love.
I would bet on love again.

Dying in some cesspool place
no chance to embrace YOUR divinity.
Condemned by GOD to more suffering,
I want no part of such DEITY.

Cheer at the altar of his fist.
A beer to celebrate blood on ice.

The enforcer whom you worship
would split your head and not think twice.

These are the heroes we offer –
often naughty, rarely nice.