Some members of my church speak in tongues.
Or at least they pretend to.
They roll their eyes, gyrate their bodies, flail their arms,
And generally act like kooks.
But last week, while they were engaged in their fakery,
I noticed a woman nearby
Having an epileptic seizure.
No one responded because they assumed she was
Just one of the kooks.
But I recognized that she wasn’t faking it and leapt to her aid.
Later, after the paramedics had loaded her into an ambulance
And drove off, the pastor came over and put his big dumb arm around me
He congratulated me and told me I had been
Guided by the hand of the Lord.
Nonsense.
I wasn’t guided by anyone’s hand.
I was guided by my ability to tell phonies from reality.
But I kept my mouth shut and just thanked the pastor.
I wanted him to take his hairy arm off of me.
I stood there smiling even as I fantasized
About swinging a tire iron
Into the teeth of those charlatan tongue speakers.
Maybe I can guide the hand of the Lord to do that.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
If only! My church welcomed all denominations but preferred tens and twenties. -chuck