A young boy sat on the steps of his government housing.
The church bus stopped and picked up his sisters.
His eyes made contact with those of the pastor.
A young boy in confrontation with a man.
What did god mean to the boy, perhaps much more.
He said fuck you a few years earlier to the deity.
On his knees praying, screaming, Jesus save me.
He gave the finger and ran away.
The next time he saw god he was drunk at a church.
Now armed with a firm handshake.
Now with a wide eyed grin.
Oh happy days came and went.
He developed a taste for the holy, the divine and the forgiven.
His trinity became liquor, weed and nicotine.
He would wake delirious from furious Saturday nights.
After showering, he would roll three fags and a jay.
Red-eyed he would ask kindly for free coffee from the service.
A choral piece accompanied with strings.
He'd stumble into the church and often sat towards the back. Upright,
I've never had a problem with feeling. The reverb and stained glass
was inspiring. In the presence of god,
thoughts come on doves feet.
– Ajax The Gospel Singer