Cyndie Randall
SAVIOR
The man who lives
in my chest wears
a machete on his hip
and three to seven times
a week he whips it
through my pink jungle
searching for children left
in hardened walls I have
no idea who sent him perhaps
he is the Jesus I took
into my apple-eating mouth if
so he’s one crusading
drunk I think I’ll swallow
down a cup of coffee rub
our busy breast
and name him
Dave