A Damn Shame
He wasn't just gay,
he was GAY gay. The saddest gay person
I've ever known. He was my friend.
He said that I was all he had...
me and Jesus. But he could talk to me
a lot easier than he could Him.
" Sometimes, I think that He's mad at me," he told me once.
"He's mad at me for not fixing myself.
I've tried a few times. But then,
He says, 'What's the matter with YOU?
Leave it alone!'"
"Sometimes, late at night, I go to Johnnie Mercers Pier, all the way to the end---
and just scream at Him. I AM BROKEN,
AND you DID IT! SO you NEED TO FIX IT
RIGHT NOW'!
He gets really angry when I do that."
"I don't know..." I said to him..."I think you gotta do a hell offa lot to piss off GOD."
We both broke out in hysterical laughter.
I wonder, now,
why we found that so funny.
Last week, Shame flew to San Francisco.
He said to look for Jesus,
cause he couldn't find Him at church anymore,
and somebody told him
that He'd moved there.
So, he sold everything that he owned,
except for the neon orange boa that he wore
on special occasions and
a book of poetry by Langston Hughes,
and he left.
When he got there, he checked himself
into a fancy hotel and put his book on the table. He opened it up to the poem,
"The ***** Speaks of Rivers."
He grabbed his orange boa and
wrapped it about his neck. Then went outside and hailed a taxi.
He told the driver to take him to the bridge. The driver put him out, never questioning the destination
(I feel certain that he'd made that trip before).
Shan gave him a $100 tip and waved him off.
When I got the news, I just had to chuckle a little inside. Only that DAMN Shame could manage to do both---
find Jesus,
and piss Him off,
all in a single leap.
Copyright © Carol Bowen-Davis | Year Posted 2019
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