(no subject)
Memoirs of a Pizza Delivery Boy
Bright and crisp, one morning
he found himself
walking ever-so-slowly to church
Momma begged to go, always always
for years
it was engrained, deep as the creases in his
tennis shoes & just as old
Thank God for those tennis shoes
covered his feet, brought him
to work to home to work to school
Making money for the gas in his father's
'89 Plymouth
borrowed, grinding, but with plenty o' GRIT
smelling of pizza and garlic always always
Once he chased a train till it leapt ov'r the
horizon
he closed his eyes and dreamt of America
and God was there with him
everyone else was asleep
Thank God, Thank God
There are no stone churches in the desert
No pizzas, no gasoline
there's none in the mountains
notta one by the streams, or the oceans
Only lighthouses to bring the ships in
always always
Not for a moment was his faith shifted
or broke down
Not when the floods stole his tennis shoes
or when the gritty wind took his spirit
beat it till it was grimy and wilted
sent him home over the train tracks to
garlic and glass shards in driveway
Bright and clear, one day
he found himself walking to church
because . . . another year had gone by
Another lot of peaks 'n valleys always always
it was there he saw the snail
struggling, slimy, barely up the roots of the
oak tree
Creeping, globbing over bumps and lumps
and bark it went
suddenly passing through a shadow
touching the sunlight with its tiny shell
and glistening
Hours passed, finally he decided that he
didn't need to go to church after all
The Sun knew,
He'd already been there