This next poem is called "Jesus Freaks".
That's the title that this group--
I think they're still around--
has given themselves.
And I don't mean it--
I mean, I'm trying in this poem to reach out beyond myself.
And to try and see that-- their world from their perspective.
It's an exercise in what Keats would
call a negative capability.
"Jesus Freaks."
"The approval they get from above is all they need.
So why should they care if they offend me?
Here in the parking lot of the Super Duper,
my arms full by stuffing a pamphlet or two in my pocket.
No point in shouting at them to keep back when they're
looking for disapproval.
No reason for them to obey the rules of one
of the ignorant who supposes the perpetual dusk he
lives in sunny new.
Their business is with my soul, however buried.
With my unvoiced wish for the truth.
Too soft for me to catch over the street noise.
Should I rest my packages on my car a minute and try to listen?
If I'm sure they really believe they're vexing me
in my own best interest.
To them, I'm the loser they used to be when they sweated
daily to please themselves.
Deaf to their real wishes.
Why make it easy for me to load the trunk of my car
with grocery bags when they offer
a joy that none of my purchases, however free of impurities,
can provide?
Their calls to attention shouldn't
sound any more threatening than the peal of a church bell.
And if I call on the car phone to lodge a complaint,
jail will seem to them the perfect place
to bear witness in this dark dominion, where Herod rules,
in jail.
But also guests at a banquet.
While I, they're certain, stubbornly stand
outside shivering in the snow.
Too proud to enter a hall of my own devising.
And enjoy a meal strangers have taken pains with.
Yes, the table's crowded.
But there's room for me."