Who's Yo Daddy?
I am not a Buddhist
but I secretly think
there might be
something to it;
their guy is happy
all the time, and
his smile is catchy.
I can't help but admire
a bald-headed, big-bellied
bead-toting peacenik—
I admit to rubbing his belly
and smiling back at him
at cash registers in stores
run by Asians, artists and hippies
like my pedicure place,
favorite Chinese take-out, and
free trade coffee house.
Something about it
just feels good.
Fundamentalists would
have my head for this
blasphemy, but
in comparison, truly,
our guy is tragic—
hanging on a tree,
his face, hands, and feet
bloodied for me,
on a crucifix fixed
in the epitome of suffering
hanging on rearview mirrors
walls and doors—
which is scary
to small children
and convicting of sinners
already guilty.
As talismans go,
it is likely a matter of who
you know:
fat, bald and happy
or naked and poor…
personally, if both
Buddha and Jesus
turned out to greet me
on the other side, well
that would be
sublime, just
fine with me.
I'd like to believe
God is too busy being
Divinity
to play favorites, or
keep score.
