time just when the sunset tilts
away and the little plastic people
get caught up in their own light, when they glow
from inside as if there was more to them
than a 100 watt bulb and blind faith.
She would glow. He would need a moon-sized
mannequin and more than reflected light.
Forgiveness big as pain he’d need, and then
some more. I wonder what I’d do if I
were God and he showed up. I might consult
the moon, or a plastic family.
I might forgive him on a dare.
I like the little guy in his tiny wooden sloop,
Mom and Pop for oars, God himself almighty
for wind, sea, and sail. Float on, Swabbie.
I’ll have a pint for you when you reach port
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