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 to me,
“You’re going to Hell
when you 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
in concentric circuits,
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.