WHEN i was
13
i saw christ
on the streets
of los angeles
up near Angel's flight
and the
international food market

he carried
spray cans
& tagged
white walls
words of
sorrow
angst
& derision

back then
my father
smoked
more often
cursed
in equal numbers
but never
saw
the same streets
that i
did

he gave me
three dollars
and
a
quarter
i bought
watermelon
and beef jerky
i sat
alone in
a park
while my dad
talked to god

christ told
me to ignore
the canon
the kind you
find in
a bookshop

i told him
that he forgot
to cross
a
''t''
in christmas

he frowned
& wandered
away