pieces of fried God

Can you keep a secret?

My parents would be horrified to know
that I put pieces of fried God in my mouth

that I bit and chewed and swallowed the Divine;
that He’s digesting in my stomach as we speak.

But you know what troubles me most?

It’s that God walks proudly where my grandfather lives,
where children suffer a hunger I will never know.

Where people with fingers and faces just like mine
worship Him and beg for scraps on the streets.

If there really was a God,

and I really got to meet Him,

I think I’d cook Him alive,

and feed Him to His children.

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