If everyone wore their crosses
like Christians
boasting
this is  my purpose
this is sacrifice

The man at the bodega would wear a dog collar
chained to a security camera
cash register
tobacco field
And when you asked him the time
he would howl
twelve years!
twelve years!
that’s what time it is

The alcoholic on your stoop
would have a dick
colored like a Michelob bottle
permanently shoved up her ass
And every bad word you’ve thought
as you stepped around
averting your eyes
tattooed on her cheeks
in the shape of handprints

The lesbian daughter you disowned
would grow a cunt on her forehead
Every time she kissed her lover
her bellybutton would rip open
She would cry placenta
and we would have to smack her to shut her up

That depraved artist you petitioned against
would have brushes instead of hands
Every time he tried to say something insincere
shit would come out of his mouth
and he would never be invited
to another SOHO gallery art opening again

The pregnant teenager
would carry asign made of condoms reading
“Jesus was a bastard”
But you would still call her a whore
so her tits would be metal spikes
like Madonna
They would rip through her shirt
unable to cover them
And when she nursed her baby
gums would bleed

The beaten wife
would have purple stars for eyes
mops for feet
and her children’s  shrunken heads grown around her neck
like something from a Viet Nam veterans’ prized collection

The raped woman
Would have a tombstone in her vagina
You’d have to put down flowers before you could fuck her
She would have a video screen in her chest
And every time she was afraid
the “incident” would play
in full color
loud and bright
and you couldn’t look away
No
you couldn’t look away
this time

The screaming insolent child
would have flesh made of cellophane
insides of sand
and you and you’d have to think about it
before you smacked him

The romantic
would grow thousands of tentacles
blue and silver and all things spacey
reaching out for miles
caressing the unseen
When they got chopped off
he would scream
and no one would know why
They would think he was singing
unaware of  how it hurt
But he can grow them back
don’t worry
He can grow them back
so many times

The quiet dissenter
would have mirrors for skin
microphones for ears
and an affinity for fundamentalists

If everyone wore their crosses —
like Christians
boasting
this is my purpose
this is my sacrifice
Maybe those two little sticks
wouldn’t act so damned righteous
anymore

In The Fray Contributor