My Secret Prayer Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

Strange, super-human powers
I possess.
I know what's hidden, where,
and I can guess your history
from your breath,
and what things weigh.
My ears can hear a rip
from rooms away.
I know what's in your ‘fridge,
your cart, your bag.
what's missing from a shelf,
what's on a rag.
Pie diagrams
my inner eye divides.
I never asked for this.
Besides I'm powerless.

I fret to see folks frown.
Observed alone,
a guest, or on the town
they think me rude.
'What nerve! '
'What gall! '
They watch me stare
and drool and scheme
at all that's gulped or
sucked or licked or bit and chewed
I pray then:
'Thank you, God,
that's not my food.'