Sunday, May 12, 2013

The Preacher

You can usually find him
inside the old downtown
train tunnel.

At his feet will be
a jug of water.
In his hand,
a Bible.

He won’t rant to you about
the end of the world
Or ask for your money.

This preacher will just stand
in his tunnel
with his supplies
and express a love
for Jesus
in an honest,
Almost touching way.

he sings hymns
which I’m positive
he’s making up as he goes.

Other times
he baptizes staggering tourists
as they pass by
on their way to the
Little Nugget.

(That’s what the jug of water
is for)

There’s a fanny pack under his
protruding gut;
its bright yellow color,
a relic of the 1980s.

No object,
article of clothing,
or hair dye
will ever be manufactured
with this
reckless shade of yellow
ever again.

The only thing in the entire
physical world
that shares this fanny pack’s hue
are the lights
lining each of the casinos
here in Reno.

And that’s when it finally hits me.
This man.
This town.
They’re made for each other.

It’s a leather-bound Bible
with whiskey-stained pages
And more quotable lines than The Big Lebowski.

It’s a jug of holy water
with a gallon full of hope
And a blue Save Mart label on the side

It’s a tiny yellow light
That blinks like Crazy George
And replaces all the stars in the sky.

It’s a preacher
who doesn’t want to save you.
It’s a town
that doesn’t need saving.

No comments:

Post a Comment