E.R. Smith, 2018
Looking through peep hole.
Scrutinize self, beside doctrine.
Cringe, never will be confused for Jesus.
Catalyst reality, requires prevarication.
Sacrificing time when disinterested, tough!
Would rather give blood, maybe even marrow.
Thinking fast on my feet, speed demon.
Raspy voice reaches through closed door.
“Not my best today, you know the flu’s been about?!”
Jehovah’s witnesses back away, like my door’s lepers.
Their quick revulsion justifies my guile, the nerve!
No saviors in those church clothes either? Huh.
Misery loves this company, lackluster samaritans.
Going back to cozy sinful bed.