God the Great Magician
I heard the name God In passing today. It surfaced singular, Up from the background In a steady blur of conversation. "God." When I heard God, I immediately thought of a magician. That's what I automatically do: I envision A magician standing on a stage. Is that strange? No matter the context — Be it at a wedding, A funeral, In church Or on TV... Or even, as I've said, As a single word overheard in a conversation— When I hear the name God I see God the Great There on the stage. His suit fits him nicely, And atop H is head, A black velvet stovetop hat Blends into his thick, slicked-back hair. (As is custom, he pulls me from his hat, But not yet... Or not today) He wears a flowing cape, too; It matches his black shoes, And his mustache, waxed, Points like a tuning fork. I'm drawn to his dark, dimpled cheeks, And I swoon in the scent of his cologne. It smells of Honey-t