My God by Slone Leman

last night you asked me,
drowsy, and muffled by the pillow,
if I believed in God.
I said yes but I didn’t
tell you that my god looks
suspiciously like you.
complete with black choppy bangs
that fall over the
third sparkling eye
in the middle of her forehead.

in the morning you told me
that I’d better bring bug spray to work
in an accidentally cutting tone.
I got over it as we left
and I watched
your headlights get smaller and smaller
behind me.
I didn’t bring the bug spray,

so now I pray to the mosquito bites
scattered across my arms and legs and ass,
like you’re the god of “I told you so”.
pray to the way I can, hours later, feel
your high beams boring into the back of my head,
like you’re still looking down on me.

pray like you can give me
some kind of salvation.
please,
give me some kind of salvation.