The guru singled me out
right away. She said–Here
take these streamers
these fans to venerate me.
I experimented whipping fans
looping streamers through
the air with feigned expert-
ise– graceless gymnast. You
may stay home when we go
to worship, but what have you
come for? I came
to learn to pray.
As if it were nothing she said Oh, Bob can teach you that!
I examined an ornate door
in need of repair I thought
I can fix this, as Bob burst in. Oh, it’s you.
(Bob died recently, I was
surprised to see him) Give me your hand,
I want to read your palm
he snatched at it greedily. This is your hardest life
he claimed. I thought, Oh good!
then thought again, knowing
there was more to come, —But
don’t worry, he soothed, You
have the full attention of God.
76,ooo letters. His name and number
sprung from the page an Iowan
no less. Bedford. One of those towns
with a main street that supports just
one bar, one diner not open past seven,
and an antiques shop by appointment
only. The Wal-Mart draws attention
from what used to be a town
with heart. Robert Ripley has never
been proven wrong and that ain’t right
thought Mr. Bedford with hands full
of time, retired from the postal service.
Signed, sealed, surrendered, through inclement
weather, tedious traffic and personal
tragedy, everyday but the lord’s, and the
day we honor the dead or risen by
giving one to the living.
Dear Mr. Ripley, I would like more information
regarding the claim you have found the anchor
of Noah’ ark. Please Mr. Ripley can you prove
the existence of God?