by Ken Sehested
There’s a raucousness to God, in God, of God, by God,
that the orderly mind cannot abide (finds chaotic, riotous)
that the prim-proper mind finds embarrassing (even trashy)
that the erudite mind judges tacky (mangy)
that the pious mind believes unseemly (well-nigh depraved)
that the disciplined mind finds rowdy (or at least untidy)
that the morally rigorous simply cannot condone.
Have you ever been in a place like, maybe, as a child
in church, sitting next to your best friend who, despite
trying hard not to,
how can I say this without
offending delicate sensitivities
“breaks wind”? What might normally be only marginally
humorous, now
given the sanctuarial circumstances,
the prohibition of irreverence being severe
becomes funny all out of proportion and, despite your
best efforts, trying to swallow the guffaw rising from
your esophagus,
like trying to muzzle a sneeze
it squirts out anyway, and the breath suppressed explodes
through nasal cavity, launching a mucus-laced snort,
unleashing giggles, a mutiny against solemnity.
Listening to prayers
all day, all night, hour
after endless epoch
that’s how God sometimes gets.