It’s Sunday-night-Monday morning, 2 am,
and I’m tossing, turning, burning in these sheets.
Five hours until I’m up for work
and still the night terrors play their coming attractions
on the inner dome of my skull.
Still they tie my neurons into hitch knots,
square knots, Gordian glops
and still my six year old self stares at glowing Snoopy
imagining death has no nightlights.
Now, I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keeps coming.
The question keeps coming.
My body shouts “Shut up, Goddamn it.”
but my brain refuses to listen.
It’s got that thought –
Is God a Pepsi or a Coke drinker? Coke or Pepsi?
Coke -it’s the real thing and I want the real.
I’d like to teach the world to sing.
But Pepsi is the choice of a new generation
and I yearn to be new,
fresh to the world.
Sure, I could tell myself that an all merciful God loves all colas equally,
that God wouldn’t give me a soda
which would imperil my soul’s salvation,
but some guy on the wall at Jericho
fretted about his wife and three kids
as Yaweh’s trumpeting invaders brought him down.
The question sticks – Coke or Pepsi?
And the minutes tick their heavy seconds
and the hours jangle their bloated minutes
and the clock finally announces 4:13 am
and maybe I have an answer.
God, the old guy, drinks Coke,
Jesus, divinity junior, drinks Pepsi,
and the Holy Ghost drinks all the crappy, store brand sodas.
And now, I would drop to into sleep
with a slim three hours before the alarm,
yet with the downing of my eyelids,
I ponder Mountain Dew.