Tom Foster

In And Out Of My Hands

It’s early November
Late evening and I’m just leaving work
Another ten hour shift behind me
Walking across the parking lot
Steamy exhales
Shoulders slumped and sore
I see my Jeep Wagoneer
Waiting under a halogen lamp
Its rusty ass pointed my way
When something strikes me odd
I’m Fifty yards away
The back window’s frosted over
The pattern’s quite unique
The hair
The beard
The patient weary tender smile
Twenty five yards and yes
Like the Shroud of Turin
Now Jeep of Tavis
Etched in crystal
On the back window of my faithful Jeep
A portrait of Jesus
It was hard to believe
Was it a coincidence
A miracle
Did it mean something
Was it a message
God is coming
God wants peace
God likes Jeeps
God likes me
No telling for certain but what did it matter
The Jeep of Tavis was now
Part of the Big Picture
Thousands of people will flock hundreds of miles to see
Reverently touch my Jeep
And did I mention the marketing potential
Ten yards
The serene brow
The made for tv. movie rights
Five yards and
That’s not Jesus
It’s Karl Marx

Poem Submitted: Friday, November 5, 2004

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Comments about In And Out Of My Hands by Tom Foster

  • James Atkins (3/7/2005 7:19:00 AM)

    Loved it. In fact, wish I'd written it.

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  • Timothy Werner (1/6/2005 4:57:00 PM)

    This is by far the most entertaining poem I have read for a while. Loved It.

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  • knot Available (11/5/2004 1:34:00 PM)

    That was funny! ! !
    Still funny! !

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Read poems about / on: believe, work, god, hair, peace, smile, people