"Excuse me sir, do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?"
For a moment, I almost tell him that I was born Jewish.
Or that I don't really believe in a God at all.
I almost tell him, "No."
But I look at his too-thin, pathetic face,
And at his cross necklace.
I notice his red shirt,
The blazing white shoes,
faded jeans without a belt.
I almost tell him, "No."
Then I remember that old trick I used to play.
knock knock knock. The door opens.
"Excuse me sir, do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?"
The same look I'm giving him now, and the door closes again.
I rob the neighbor visiting his daughter in New Mexico instead.
I almost tell him, "No.
I don't have the time because I can't be redeemed, so *******."
I almost tell him, "Your God is a lie that your parents made up to keep you a ******."
I almost flip him off and say, "White America can *******."
I almost tell him, "No."
But I hesitate, because I marvel at his capacity to believe.
I almost tell him, "No."
But I hesitate. I look him in the eyes.
"No," I say, and I slam the door in his face.
