Against the ugly annals of
Bible-thumper politics bounce the echoes
of Bad-Eye Thomas' lonesome cry.
His tears collect against the
coffers engineered by Robertson's broadcasts;
the retention walls defined by Falwell's broadsides.
Such rhetoric trickled down from
palatial headquarters (funded from small contributions)
to the votes of the faithful tithers.
Mrs. Thomas, Christopher's mother,
having deposited her social security check,
found his money coupon, kept neatly between
her phone bill and her monthly offering
envelope to the Voice of Victory. As she
writes her bills, she sends
ten to each.
Just before she opens the shoot
on the mail box, she-for the umpteenth time-
presses the envelopes to her brow
and claims her miracle.
She has budgeted her semi-annual
visit to Christopher for this month.
She takes tears to him.
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