I know I’m dead

The comedy routine
was pre-recorded,
the comedian
long dead.
The jokes were funny
and so I laughed.
It was odd,
because I knew
he was dead.
He didn’t, though.
He was on tape.
It made me wonder:
Could he have known?
He was doing his thing,
working his craft,
but he was now dead.
We are all
“Doing our things”
and we will all
be dead
What do we know
of that?
It’s there a window
to peek through
and see
This eventuality?
It is far too easy
to do so
from this vantage point
in the present
looking back.
But otherwise


The lights

I took my two-year old son
for a drive
in the neighborhood
to look at the Christmas lights.
As the radio played
the standards
he gleefully called out
each character
he recognized.
I felt joy
tinged with a feeling
I am reluctant
to call
As an adult
I have chosen the title
to mark my place
in the arc
of belief.
I have arrived here
after a long journey
through rebellion
and atheism.
What will his journey be?
I find Christianity fascinating
as one does any history
without its strings
Must I submit him
to Sunday lectures
and the fear of the afterlife
to teach him
the reason for the glory
embeded in
Adeste Fidelis?
Does my softening reflect
some ritualistic
and predictable failing
that befalls all upon whom culture
inevitably places her crown
of yielding?
I do not wish
to spend Sundays
listening to the tired intonations
of those whose key book
has seen more revisions
than a dictionary.
I cannot, however, deny
the power of human belief
that leads to such endeavors
in the first place.
Must I submit this child
to these practices
to give him the fuel
to know when to rebel?
but if not
there is always the covenant
of grandma
and grandpa…
that’s how it worked out
for me….