Sooner or later it had to happen
the First Baptist factory outlet
where it doesn't cost so much
to believe in God,
or pray to Jesus,
and they only sing
the chorus parts of hymns.
When the basket
comes around
I give it a dollar
that's lived in a lot of pockets,
a faded crease splitting
George Washington's forehead.
"Wait a minute, son" the Deacon says
"You got change coming." And in front
of everybody he gives me 25 cents.
"God wants you to call Him" he adds.
The next time I go to church
I put a quarter in the basket.
"Wait a minute, son" the Deacon says.
This time he gives me a dime.
By the end of the month my faith
is reduced to a shiny piece of copper
just big enough to press between
my worried fingers when the phone rings
and I know it's Sara calling.
