Jesus Sits at Baskin-Robbins

Jesus sits on the bench
at Baskin-Robbins,
largely ignored and unseen

motorists hurry through
left-hand turns, then
jockey for the fastest lane

unphased, he barely blinks
and writes for hours
on the seat beside him

all the big secrets
men and women die for
disappear into the wood

he, more than anyone,
knows he could set himself
on fire and draw a crowd
but I sense he doesn't have it in him;
sick of being our rebound lover

we don't want him, but no one else can have him
(unless it's late at night and we need someone to talk to)

i smile and nod at the space beside him;
he smiles back and his eyes thank me

it feels good to be nice to Jesus
even if he's just another man sitting on a corner