The Meth Addict of Sonora County

Christianity

is the sound

of three men talking to each other,

one on a cushiony chair in the spacious

Starbucks (next to the orange lamp

originating from a sizable

metalworking shop just north of Seattle,

whose light fixtures now dangle & stand

in a thousand contiguous

installations)

his bible sloping open on the pleather armrest, saying

“Christ’s blood covers us,” while

half a mile away,

under an oak tree,

wearing a brown sweater

and corduroy shorts

a man with unclean holes in his face

feels the June sun

of the foothills of central California,

and he hates it, for a moment,

as he moves into a standing position

from the dry yellow brush,

and feels the sharp pain

that reaches across his left hand’s dorsal plain

where Gerry (who is a girl)

scratched him with a broken High Life

while screaming something profane

and taking swipes at those holes he sees through,

and breathes through,

scabbed and unclean.

Yes, he affirms, he hates the sun

for how bright it is

and how the varicosed veins

along his inner arms pulse from the strain

of the last one hundred hours

He fishes through pockets,

finds a pinch of chemical lint

and uses meagre technology

to ignite and then ingest it, while

the young preacher leans forward, his bible closed now,

(the pretty barista tonging squares of coffee cake

into lightly waxed pastry bags,

pours coffee, moving left to

right around her coworkers (partners

they call themselves)) and the preacher stops talking

as another of the trinity of Christian men

pitches in, his voice

swallowed by the other conversations,

the sound of the air conditioning,

the pleasant vetted music,

the hum of the refrigerator unit;

I believe he asks a question

because the preacher — or, actually, the young man

who has been mostly talking,

says “You have to understand the historical context…”

as a blender comes on,

and a blonde dressed for her saturday run (to Costco

or down a paved road, hearing cows low,

watching hawks dive)

drops five dollars

on cream and sugar

sucked through an iconic green straw

(smiling as she trots to the door).