Twelve Steps

I go for a walk, early.

It is a sunny, crisp, morning.

I can see him coming from across the road,

the wide eyes of the deluded

are easy to recognise.

Then on queue, twitchin’

talkin’ at me, rat-a-tat

“I saw you in church brother.”

“No, you didn’t,” I say.

“I saw you in church, brother.”

“No, you didn’t,” I say.

“Do you pray in church, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you pray in church, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Don’t you go to church, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“You don’t go to church, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you believe in Jesus, brother.”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you want Jesus in your life, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you believe in God, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you believe in God, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“You don’t believe in God, brother?”

“No,” I say.

“I’ll pray for you, brother.”

“Don’t waste your time,” I say.

“I’ll pray for you, brother.”

“Please don’t,” I say.

“You don’t want me to pray for you?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“You don’t want me to pray for you?”

“No,” I say.

“I’ll pray for you, brother.”

“Please don’t.”

“I’ll pray for you, brother?”

“It means nothing to me,” I say.

“I’ll pray for you, brother.”

“Suit yourself,” I say.

There, I say it

He gets what he wants

And is gone.