Poetry

Last Thursday I had lunch with Jesus,
he complained about the help.
Apparently they were stealing
jewelry, the good silverware
and pieces from his favorite
Sears Craftsman metric ratchet set.
He said he felt helpless:
a teacher with bad pupils,
a spleen riddled with cancer cells.
But they had lifetime contracts,
binding ones.  And a sly shop steward.
 
I told him to put the jewelry
and good silverware
in a safety deposit box
in Mecca.
His people would never think
to look there.
And I reminded him
of the Sears lifetime warranty.