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He was known to frequently tell lies and curse aloud. What most people didn't know was that it was not to curse the ones around him, or to spread falsehood. His mothertongue was the stuff of acidic cruelty, jaded nonchalance, and subterfuge. Where most people try to forget about such things if they ever experience it, he reveled in it, and became a bard of filth. The people around him reacted typically, and cornered him one day, blaming him for everything that was wrong with their worlds. They fed him the body of Christ in the form of a big bar of Irish Spring. But then, he said, gesticulating wildly next to me on the park bench, it transubstantiated into pure forgiveness. It tasted like an apple pie. I didn't get sick. And I didn't die. I looked at him. He laughed and asked, Would I lie?
leslie powell 15 february 2006 minneapolis, mn |