Evening was a prelude to the Sunday
Morning hangover. I would rise, and say
“Jesus Christ,” holding my head as if
It were a rock, trying to remember
Whether I had had a good time or not.
We settled into the sofa, pillows soft
And shapeless, our pew of first resort.
I had to kneel to turn on the TV where
There was and half-hour of Roadrunner
Punishing inept Wiley Coyote. We laughed
At the futility of his pursuit. Beep, beep.
This was followed immediately by faith-
Healer Oral Roberts. Under the big tent
The people would come, the believers
And the hopers in their wheelchairs
And on their crutches, stretchers too.
He would lay on his hands and beseech
God to heal them. They would stand
And walk, shed their crutches—beep, beep.
Praise the Lord. If only he could touch my head.
We laughed ourselves silly debating who
Was funnier, Road Runner or Oral Roberts.
There was salvation in both, and Alka Seltzer.
Bruce Morton divides his time between Montana and Arizona.
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