Miracle

You said Jesus knows my soul
is yellow as this road;
and the boats in the channel
keep my head clear
while I watch him
drown my sister's dog again.
He calls it baptism -
a miracle of science.

He says I do not need a calendar
or a parent's love
to find Him
on the weak and narrow
and that solace
is a good, strong bread
left in the poor box
every Sunday morning.

But I like to pretend
He keeps his Dodge 57
on my lawn,
turning up the daisies.
We can drive it
all the way to Memphis
on one tank of gas...