Special Guy hardly ever notices his stomach problems any more since he has lately been rendered incapacitated by a pinched nerve in his back. He's going to acupuncturists and chiropractors, two professions I have not a lot of respect for. I'd be getting a referral for a good sports medicine clinic from my primary care physician so fast it would make her head spin.

I wrote a poem for the Special Guy. Lord knows there's enough crappy poetry on the internet, but I'll post mine. I haven't written a poem for years. Surprised that one should come to me now. I'm actually sort of pleased with the effort. I don't know if 'bouquet of bubbles' works really well or fails spectacularly, though. Anyway. Forthwith...

In the Jordan

Not much of a river;
Water slouching over rocks.
At first I took him for a stranger, not kin, standing smiling on the bank.

I have my routine down now. I wade
Up to him, relieve him
Of his tunic. We face each other
Naked. He is smooth while I'm hairy.
Like a kid goat. Both of us are tall. We
Kiss. Like a lover I put my arm around
His waist, lead him out into the current.
I have my routine down now. When we're
Chest high I stand between him and
The sun. He squints. I can see him.
He sees only my silhouette.

I move my hands to his shoulders, broad
And firm, not those of some wizened rebbe or wiry young
Zealot. He relaxes almost
Imperceptibly, and I strike, throwing him off
Balance. Under he goes. Strangely he doesn't
Squirm, no convulsions, no bouquet of bubbles
Rises. I keep him under and say a
Psalm. A good long while.

I loosen my hold. He surfaces, gasping and glassy-eyed. I pull him close, feel the heft of him in my arms. God speaks.

God has spoken to me often.
"Go out to the wilderness, John."
"Eat the locusts if you're hungry."
"Put on those skins if you're cold."
"Show them they're drowning in their hypocrisy."

But God calls him 'my son.' God says
He is pleased.

He and I, we laugh as if we're drunk.
We're drunk with God. We kiss.
Laughing. The sunlight is God. The
River is God. He is God. I am God. God is pleased.
All is made new.


Would John the Baptist have recited a psalm? I can't think why not. I use exclusivist language with the Deity, but I wasn't able to come up with a construction that wasn't clunky. Alas.