Poem: I keep one eye open when I pray

I am mischief; I am boy.

They call me baptized, civilized,

but there’s a frog in my pocket,

a shotgun shell, a broken toy.

Always listening to everything you say,

I am little ears – grown folks’ business!

I never forget, never forget.

You’ll hear it again some day.

And I am always watching. I even

keep one eye open when I pray.

I see the blushing ladies in church dress,

flirting, flashing ivory and brown legs under skirts

for that handsome young new preacher.

Oh, his wife is so not impressed.

 I hear he’s ‘blessed,’ the ladies say.

They think I don’t know

and maybe I don’t, but

You’ll hear that again some day.

And I am always watching. I even

keep one eye open when I pray.

“Bow your heads.” The preacher sways.

Silence. Calm. I listen, peek about.

Congregation is quiet, save for deaf Uncle Doc,

Still talking, didn’t hear “let us pray.”

“We have all fallen short of His Grace,

We know we’re not worthy.

Lord, please forgive us.”

I see the guilt on your face.

And I am always watching. I even

keep one eye open when I pray.

One eye open, lookie lookie!

Is that man picking his nose?

Searching for salvation while

digging for a boogie?

They whisper, they scold, they yawn,

they scratch that private place,

wishing they were someplace else

while the praying preacher drones on and on…

And I am always watching. I even

keep one eye open when I pray.

The deacon counts the green bills

— one for God, one for me!

Did that lady pull cash from her bra?

Sweaty titty money in God’s tills.

Have you strayed, had an affair?

The preacher prays for the harlots,

the drunks, the liars, thieves, cheaters.

Why does Mrs. Titsy have a look of despair?

And I am always watching. I even

keep one eye open when I pray.

Uh, oh, here it comes! Momma’s slap!

Eyes closed. End of fun.