When You Ask if I Love You
Must we re-examine our faith on this street corner
while the Salvation Army band is playing
‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ as coins drop into the red kettle
with gluttonous chinks and rattles?
A neon Jesus beams down from the top of the building
where the Miller girl usually rides the moon
sidesaddle like a debutante afloat on her escort’s arm,
and we’re standing here in falling snow
growing white with the duff of your needy words.
I fold a dollar bill and push it through the slit
in the kettle’s cover. It makes no sound.