Batter my heart,
Three personed God,
and don’t stop
there.
Leave me sputtering,
crying in my Oldsmobile,
choking out a prayer
with In Christ Alone on the Aux–
penance for watching porn, perhaps,
or for getting frisky at church camp
with the chick with the French braids.
Forgive me, Father,
I just like sinning.
But yes, you’re a good, good father
and you lavish me with love;
though you slay me, I trust you, but
when I eked out
How long, O Lord?
I didn’t mean your
Second Coming.
I meant it as a Todeswunsch,
an asking for a Christian
coup de grâce.
And that, too,
is Biblical.
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