(for Mrs. Margaret Gusky)
You come to me as penitent to priest–
but my church is the Church of Righteous Wrath,
its liturgy the verses of a beast
who’s mastered rhyme and pentametric math.
Naturally, you feel guilty on the path
I’ve pioneered, where lofty judgment spits
a whole destructive and digestive bath
on charity-professing hypocrites.
But don’t apologize for having wits.
The Lord does not demand of me or you
reduction of our brains to little bits
of matter that can only ah and ooh.
In liking stuff like mine, you’re not disgraced.
Rather, you demonstrate exquisite taste.