At the Gate of the Grand Apostle (poem)

[Underground_Network]

At the Gate of the Grand Apostle

I was never a religious man,
Never will be, never care to think
About becoming, but I was once,
I believe it was a Sunday
At the gate of the Grand Apostle.

If I knew his name it has been forgotten since,
But the presence of darkness led me to a depression
That I had never felt prior and hope to never feel again,
It was a sunny day but the cloud broke the fervor
Of the timid sun and brought upon a gray smog
That scalded my lungs and perished my vision.

Unseeing, I walked to the gate and pressed a button
That was ironically labeled with the words “Press Here to Enter,”
And upon pressing a voice, a robotic voice, a voice I will never forget
Said “State your business,” and I said, I am a writer
Not a businessman.

I thought I’d get a good laugh
But instead I heard a cough and a scowl
On the other end of the line
And the robotic voice drained out
And seemed to die.

I wanted in so I could see the statue of Buddha
That the Grand Apostle, a devout Protestant
Claimed to have in his living room,
But I guess he wasn’t interested
In the most divine creature of all:
The ordinary man.