new thoughts...new words...

Plastic Makes Perfect?

Sanitizers, additives, diet fads, sedatives…
a far cry from the mud and spit
and dust and sweat and green
out of which You formed my being.

Instead, I use my nylon string
and brightly-colored poly-cotton blends
to cover up a multitude of sins.
How quickly I forget that it is blood—
not soap—that sets me free.

Maybe You’d be better served
if instead of spinning techno-pop
I sang a dirge, or whistled with the whippoorwill
or joined a joyous anthem orchestrated
with the sound of cicada wings.

Seems that all my manic efforts to stay clean
encase me in a shell of polyethylene.
I guess that I just try to shut out my own humanity.

But you were birthed not in a day-glo bright obstetrics wing
but in the fog of sheep’s breath and camel drool…
and baptized in the river—not a chlorinated swimming pool.

Let me not fear a little river mud or dog slobber…
or even a steaming pile of manure.
After all, every spring you recreate new life from compost.
Who am I, this plastic man, that I should boast?