Here I Met Jesus

They watched us shower so we wouldn’t hurt ourselves.
We were always eating. I gained more than a stone,
and all at once the smokers shuffled outside with the nurse.
We stood around monkey fucking cowboy cigarettes
until someone called it. And here I met Jesus, dressed in black
slacks, black shirt, and a white collar. In the common
area he carried his Bible, as everyone watched TV before dinner.
He walked to the front of the room and switched off the set.
No one minded. The room was quiet, which never happened.
My name’s Jesus, He said and the lights flickered,

a vacuum was unplugged, heat lightning caught the clothesline.
He bowed in prayer for the group. Nothing familiar,
but something private, like rocks collected on a walk, or birds
spotted in a neighbor’s garden. He touched on littering,
landscaping, and uses for pineapple. No one looked up, he left
as quiet as he came. I followed him down the hall. He lay
on the bed like someone took the string out of his back, staring
at the ceiling, collecting his next prayer, with the Bible
at his chest, knowing Judas was strapped and ready to pounce, half
an hour before the squeak of the wheel on the supper cart.

Aaron’s debut poetry collection, A Portrait of Energy, was published by Luchador Press. He’s a Best of the Net nominee and former poetry editor at Drunk Monkeys. His recent poems are forthcoming in As It Ought to Be, Star*Line, and Trampoline. Read more at aarondwiegert.com.