Wouldn’t it be funny if Jesus were an alcoholic?
Offered his wine to his people in hope they would give back twice as much,
He was at so many suppers
I wondered if he ever swapped his order and got whisky for a change.
Did he ever looked for religion in those cups,
dip his bread in hope he would taste christianity on his lips,
realize that prayer tastes a little bit bitter?
Would he ever go on benders,
disappear for a few weeks when earth would get
a little too hard to handle?
Would Mary bring him home rock him back to sleep
like Noah's ark in those slow seas.
Would he drink when there were too many sins to die for,
What would he die for if he were his own sin?
His own creation, a bubbling concoction,
reflecting empty eyes full of regret,
Maybe heaven isn’t as easy as it's racked up to be.
Maybe he did it to numb the pain.
Maybe his father was too disappointed to look at him,
the nails in his hands stung like a betrayal,
the thorns around his head burned like a fever. Maybe, just maybe,
Jesus had anxiety, and when he spoke to others, his faith stuttered.
Is that why he never responded to my prayers?