“I’m sorry Mr. Henry,
your closing tomorrow
will not be happening,
we got a message
from the Buyer’s
Mortgage Company
that said that
they don’t mortgage churches.”
ja aj ajjaj
I had painstakingly &
consciously strived
to completely make my home
look like a
fucked-up
crazy man’s church.
Papa Smurf had
informed me
that CRAZY
is safer
than Mean.
CRAZY
AND ARTY
is why the buyer
bought it
in the first place!
There was a life-sized
gold angel
on the front railing
who looked like
she was doing
a full breast dive
into the street.
My favorite
was the 10′ tall
participatory cross,
complete with
nail handles,
and foot rest
which faced the sun,
duly named
JESUS’S TANNING BED.
Everyone loved
the green sink
that Sister Louisa donned:
SINK WITHOUT GOD.
The haint blue
Virgin Mary
with woolen coat,
boots,
unbrella,
and scarf:
THE VIRGIN MARY POPPINS.
Actually,
I loved
the concrete statue
of St. Francis of Assisi
complete with wig,
mink coat,
pearls
and a purse
appropriately named:
ST. FRANCIS IS A SISSY.
In front of the house
was Sister Louisa’s Crack Car.
So,
when I got a hankerin’
to move to Mexico,
I made a sign that said:
CRACK CAR $80,000.00
INCLUDES CRACK HOUSE.
I paid $10,000.00
for the crack shack.
Well,
the damn thing sold.
The night before
The Closing,
the mortgage company
did a drive by
and thought
that the house
was a certified CHURCH!
I remember an
official looking car
parked out front,
maybe he got mad at me
because I shoo’ed him off,
he was parked
directly beneath the
CHURCH PARKING ONLY
sign.
I’m guessing
that was
The Mortgage Guy.
This ain’t Church!