useless art

A friend -
former Jew,
now born-again
billboard,

GOT JESUS?
across his chest
embossed in shadowed
sans serif,

a fresh splash
of blood across
the question.
Not his.

He said
I’m going to Hell
when I die.
That’s right,

He said
I’m going to Hell,
and when he said
that he smiled -

smiled like a snitch
sending a pal
down the river.
I mean, goddamn,

at least show
a little shame
when you burn
me like that.

Two years later,
and I still
stare straight
through the prick,

wondering if his
smug caveat
preempted any
actual concern.

Playing basketball.
He circles the court,
a spring-loaded hamster,
perpetual child,

a snake-oil shill
parting paved seas
on his way to
the promised land.

Shake and bake,
between the legs,
around the back -
a true showman.

I make sure
to shake his hand
as he swoops towards
my knee,

and as the ball rolls
away, I help him up,
because that’s the way
I was raised.