To the Man Standing on the Corner Holding the Sign That Said "God Hates Gays" by Rudy Francisco

Written in 2017.

I've never seen exactly who it is
that you paperclip your knees,
meld your hands together, and pray to
but I think I know what he looks like:

I bet your God is about 5'10".
I bet he weighs 185. Probably
stands the way a high school
diploma does when it's next to a GED.

I bet your God has a mullet. I bet
he wears flannel shirts with no sleeves,
a fanny pack, and says words like
"getrdun." I bet your God watches FOX news,

Dog the Bounty Hunter, voted for Donald Trump,
and loves Bill O'Reilly. I bet your God
is a politician from Arizona. I bet his
high school served racism in the cafeteria

and offered "hate speech" as a second language.
I bet he has a swastika inside of his throat
and racial slurs tattooed to his tongue
just to make intolerance more comfortable

in his mouth. I bet he has a burning cross
as a middle finger and Jim Crow
underneath his nails. Your God
is a Confederate flag's wet dream.
Conceived on a day when the sky

decided to slice her own wrists.
I bet your God has a drinking problem.
I bet he sees the bottom of the shot glass
more often than his own children.

I bet he pours whiskey on his dreams
until they taste like good ideas,
probably cusses like an electric guitar
with Tourette's plugged into an ocean.

I bet he yells like a schizophrenic nail gun,
damaging all things that care about him
enough to get close. I bet there are angels
in Heaven with black eyes and broken halos

who claimed they fell down the stairs.
I bet your God would've made Eve
without a mouth and taught her how
to spread her legs like a magazine

that she will never ever be pretty enough
to be in. Sooner or later you will realize
that you are praying to your own shadow,
that you are standing in front of mirrors

and are worshipping your own reflection.
Your God stole my God's identity.
So next time you bend your knees,
next time you bow your head

I want you to tell your God
that my God is looking for him.