Christ’s Confessions

Christ returned like a raging moon
Into a filthy one room apartment,
Where he’s been hiding out
For the last two thousand years,
And, boy, you should’ve seen
The crazy bastard—he was pissed—
Pissed at himself, pissed at God,
Pissed at the world and all of humanity.

“What did I die on the frigging cross for?
And who is my daddy? And what the
F*** does it all mean? And do you exist
Anyway? You who sent me here to
Save these miserable bastards, who
Do nothing but engage in war and
Make a buck, while murdering
Each other and polluting the Earth?”

“I have shared the turf with the brothers,
Mexicans and Puerto Ricans,
Pimps and hookers, derelicts and ne’er-do-wells,
And found it all to be a bunch of whores shit—
No one is interested in being saved
Or anything else I can tell them.
Hell, Buddha and Mohammed tried
And failed miserably. Because the dudes
Are out of touch. They just aren’t with it.”

“Well, I tried to be cool, even offered them
The so-called eternal life, but their idea
Of eternity is one night with Sister Sally—
Easy Sally, as she is called up North.
No, humanity ain’t shit and all they got
Is a bunch of lame poets, shouting my name,
While living in sin and corruption.
Love is all you need, but it doesn’t pay
The rent and no one gives a damn.”

“So here I go, God, rambling about my
Problems, while you just sit there on
Your heavenly ass and never make yourself
Known, while some psychopaths think
They carry out your will. What do I do
With BTK killers like Dennis Rader
Or pedophile priests and musicians like
Michael Jackson with countless plastic
Surgeries? What do I do with O.J. Simpson
Or the world’s genocidal leaders?
Should I open my heart and say I love you?”

“I don’t know if I can love psychopaths
Or ruthless killers, for I feel nothing but
Contempt for them and the ways of the world.
But hey, I’m Christ—the Savior—I came
Back from the dead just to show them that
I’m cool. And if you see me in a supermarket
Or in a men’s room, know that I’m just like
You, shaking off my urine or checking the
Price of oranges, as I step out into
Public places.”

“Oh Father, where the hell are you?
Wasn’t my suicide on the cross enough for
These bastards? No. They want some real
Texas chainsaw massacre with all the blood
And gore. I can’t compete with Hollywood
These days.”

“Well, I’m quitting. I’ve had enough of all
The phony shit—all the foolishness of the
Holy Trinity. I’ll just hang out with my buddies
In Tijuana, while smoking crack and getting
Laid by Mexican whores. As for the world
And humanity—who gives a damn? Let it
Burn in hell, Father, along with all the
Murderers and psychopaths.”

“¡Adiós, amigos!
Catch you in another 2000 years.”

   June 30, 2005 
--Alexander Shaumyan