jehovah witnesses knocked on my front door the other day.
two old ladies, sweet and pleasant,
with beautiful southern hats
were standing on my porch as
I opened the door.
hair disheveled, shirtless,
my tattooed body staring
they greeted me with nervous eyes
as they talked to me about their god.
they smiled, made small talk and
read their cherished scriptures
written by unknown authors.
soliciting their view of salvation.
it took all I had not to expose some of the
fallacies in their belief system.
it took all I had not to remind them that
being devoutly passionate in their beliefs
is not a measure of their accuracy.
but I was quiet. I let them read
and I politely took their pamphlet.
I gave them a thank you smile,
figuring nice people are better off
left alone in their fantasies.
as long as it gives them hope and meaning
in this circus of life, you know?
as they left, I shut my door,
tossed the paper into the trash
and headed out back to my patio.
I sat beside the dead ferns and the stale leaves
that had fallen from my backyard oak.
I subtly sipped my whiskey
and sucked in my version of salvation
through a cigar
and slowly exhaled it out to the gods.
and as I sat back,
trying to find my place in the book I was reading,
my mind wandered and
I caught myself recklessly
bleeding nonsensical thoughts on
fate, eternity and immortality.
damn those sweet old ladies,
they got me.