NaPoWriMo #21 Corned Beef (A Draft/A Memory)
I have adorned myself in loathing contempt
gift wrapped in self hatred and disgust
for miles of moments.
The most vivid of those memories
was age 20 at a church concert:
Jesus was nailed to the cross and uncompassionate
while Earth’s own angelic gospel chorale
flew charts, notes, song arrangements and insults around each other
before taking center stage to amaze all the little sinners of the world.
House lights prepared to dim and audience members
shuffled rudely past seasoned parishioners
as the choir prepared a humble prayer back stage.
At the prayer’s conclusion,
“Amens” are tossed around like raw chicken in batter
and well wishing commences.
The choir director,
a fly young Pentecostal playboy,
smiles openly at his perfectly poised paradise performers
praising them for hair, makeup, and wardrobe well coordinated
and then beams light sabers in my direction
“Even La Shaun looks good.”
Rowdy laughter foxtrots around the prayer circle.
I slowly bowed my head
to utter another prayer to the God
that would let His “chosen”
the fatted calf,
as the sacrifice of praise before worship service.
I’ve salted the wounds of that memory,
of backhand compliments like
pretty for a
thick girl/a chocolate girl/a smart girl/a doesn’t always follow the rules girl/a land on her feet girl/a girl I’m fucking/a girl I’m fucking over/a not my wife girl/a not my girl girl
as a preservation technique.
My beefy flesh pickled in a seasoned brine,
from ever accepting the freshness
of the raw beauty trapped within.
©2009 La Shaun phoenix Moore