How were they to know that he formerly was a florist?

Page from Genesis ripped out dropped from extended hand

Held out from the highest height of the interstate overpass

A psalm floating down between concrete banked air currents

He stood steadfast alongside and above gridlock stopped traffic

Verse about the narrow road settling on the pavement

Captive audience rapt in the frustration of their own wiles below

Two things He said were most important above all landing in print

Just out of reach of drivers and passengers trapped in seat belts

With pages from Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John falling in order

Doors unlocking in sync with mass unbuckling on the beltway

Citizens stepping out of their varied cars, trucks, and vans

To walk unified forward like sheep called by their shepherd

But the bible belt preacher stayed still in his car

With his fat face growing redder by the second

With fury boiling over the audacity of the florist and the Way

He let what were once factory-bound holy pages now torn out

Fall so freely like feathers from a dove

Onto the war cracked concrete of a broken city

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