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Early Sunday evening
right after the last ball game
and just before Masterpiece Theatre,
the preacher comes on, groomed impeccably,
gray suit, maroon tie, dark hair,
silver sideburns, and a gold ring
on the little finger of his right hand.
And he smiles a lot, but frowns too,
as if he's tough and full of a love
that shall not be to all people
but to as many as listen to him
and nod their heads
and occasionally raise their hands.
So I tune him in clearly,
getting the flesh tones fleshy
and the big book flopped open
in his left hand sharp and black
and the bright red marker in it bright red
where the text is.
And he waves his right hand,
and his ring flashes in the lights,
and he bellows the name of Moses
as if it bad four syllables
and tells how Moses came down from the mountain
and cursed the Children of Israel
because they were acting like communists
which is the same as worshipping Baal,
and the good old US of A, too,
is about to go to hell,
fires and floods and plane crashes the evidence,
"And I don't even have to mention AIDS,"
he said, and he didn't mention it
except for that one time he didn't have to,
but still everybody gasped
and clapped their hands as if he had just
revealed everything they needed to know
about anything that could happen,
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