Religion The Mormon Faith Poem by James McLain

They knock on my door,
two boys in black ties,
clean faces,
smiling like they've never been punched,
like they've never felt
the sting of a whiskey bottle gone dry.

They talk about light,
salvation,
a golden book,
a prophet who saw the heavens split—
but all I see is the weight of Sunday mornings,
the ache of rules carved in stone.

I tell them no thanks,
close the door,
light a cigarette,
and think of their God,
always watching,
always judging,
while mine sits in the corner,
quiet as a broken lamp.