good.

of all the good ones
the preachers’ kids
the deacons’ kids
I was in the thick of them
from diapers through learner’s permit
and I was the one who caused heads to shake
for daring to question things
God bless the pastor who took a knee
to thoughtfully ponder my heretical queries
who welcomed the pious punk
and all the questions that simply aren’t asked

interesting that I’m the one of the baptist brood
that prays and says grace
and curses when i’m glad
while the good ones grew
to worship the coin
saying “In God we trust”
fooling no one – we all know
how they got their gold
they stink of dirty money
blood-frenzied by equity
but they’ll always have a place
on Sunday morning
a quiet hour to sit and think
of ways to guzzle more and more and more
of their brothers’ dollars Monday morning

I am secure in my spirituality
my truth is lifelong pursuit
not something I glance at once a week
and only mention when politically prompted

they lash out hatefully when they don’t understand
but are internally justified
because they are the good ones

don’t misunderstand me
this isn’t contempt or resentment
simply a commentary on growing up
as one of the good ones
but deciding that I wanted more
daily i am thankful for parents with vision
who taught by example, love and respect
daily i remember the pastor who only thundered
when love was on the line
when the good ones radiate hate

there are good ones who stayed good
there are good ones who went bad
and there are good ones who write poems
about the good ones, looking back