Well Bottom Blues

Was it really Him in that pearlescent robe, gold belted with a halo in the spotlight shadow? Is there a Bible School Jesus and a Vegas Jesus? He told me I could kick because he’s the higher power that rules over shaky basements of midnight coffee. I’m shivering with the need-a-pill chills and squinting at that harsh halo glare. It’s a cold light, not what I expected, not like the poppy bloom of warmth. Or is it just the guttering bathroom fluorescents as I squat on this throne praying for a miracle?

He offered me the world, the Colonel: bright lights and big titties and a private jet to my mountain. It wasn’t what you think. There was no crossroads. I sang the hymns and served my country and never laid a hand on Ann Margaret until she asked. No groupie cast my wang doodle in plaster. I was as all American as they made me seem with Brylcreem, pretty cars and fast women, everything a red blooded U.S. Male wants. I was offered the world; took it like a good American.

I’m not sure how I got here; it’s all a blur. I think it started with the white cross the Colonel’s doctor prescribed for my exhausted stardom. You got to keep those hips shaking for the ladies, he said. And something red to help me to get to bed, nothing more vending machine easy in the best American style. I was the naked King beyond correction, and here I am sitting with bended knees praying for the crook that never snatched me off.

Sweet Jesus I am stuck in frustrated stardom and all I want is your gentle hand on my shoulder and to finally take a shit and go quietly to sleep in a warm dark place under a quilt of forgiveness. I don’t want the rug painting fluorescent Jesus. I want that man sitting with the children with a lamb at his feet. I want to look up not down and see a love as genuine as my fans’ with tears of joy running down His face to see the prodigal son come home at last to Jesus.Oh Jesus. Please. Oh, G0-o-o-od. Anyone. I’d give anything…

This previously appeared in Dog Water Magazine Volume 2