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Yenta Mary |
You have no idea.
My Son died and broke my heart
Then He came back three days later
with this crazy story
about rising from the dead.
I get used to His shining face
and He's gone again after
forty days and forty nights
Just like that time
He went to the desert!
He said something about India or something
and the next thing I know
He comes back a man!
I feel like the London stage version
of Le Miserable–if you're gonna go
just go already!
They say the birth was painless,
but I'd like to see you try pushing out the little Savior
in the freezing cold, lying on a bunch of straw
after your husband who almost ran out on you
forgets to bring your suitcase and a lollipop
and then we'll talk about painless!
And when He was in the womb–what a kicker!
Always standing up, then sitting down, then kneeling-
all day long!
I never told Him but when He was ten years old
and went to the temple and His stepfather and I
had to spend the whole afternoon
hunting all over the damn capital for Him,
I was the one who hid His stuffed camel for a week.
Oh did He cry but BOY was I mad!
I was worried sick.
Remember the old days, when things were simpler.
Before you had to capitalize every holy pronoun!
He this and Him that!
I used pray to the boy's Father
and only one Person would show up.
Now when I cry out, "Oh my God!"
I've got three Persons of a Trinity
rushing into My backyard,
and They all want snacks at the same time–
like a Twix bar, you want the chocolate,
you get the caramel and cookie crunch, too! Oiy!
And you thought you had issues with the Catholicism.
When they yanked me up to Heaven
I said, "Son! Be careful, my bursitis!
Watch the left shoulder!
But it's a nice place up here,
A little cloudy at times but
Jesus keeps His room clean
If only He'd have found a nice girl to marry,
not that Mary Magdelene–tramp.
But He's a good boy. And He loves His Mother.
copyright 2004
Jeanne Marie
Spicuzza |
