look for me
I-ll be towards the back
closest to the exit
far away from God
the last to stumble in
the first out the door
gone before the final
Amen
catch me in the parking lot
smoking a fresh cigarette
right before I climb into that stain
and drive like hell towards the freeway
back to the places church crowds don-t exist
the bars and food banks and back alleys
places I-m free to unburden myself without judgment
every church should have someone like me
always passing the offering plate further down
three day beard and the stink of sweat and street
search for the obvious sinner
among the half-hearted saints
the guy you silently want to disappear
I-ll be here
every Sunday
until I-m not